Hunted
by ArcherGal2932
Summary: The twins, Legolas, and Estel are on a simple hunting excursion when everything goes wrong and they are captured by a ruthless, surprisingly intelligent band of Orcs. The hunters have become the hunted, and are in serious danger of becoming the killed.
1. I: Tempest

**Hunted**

_A/N: Well, hello again! Now, everyone say 'hello' to...drum roll please THE TWINS! Their first appearance in my writing has definitely been entertaining - I can't wait to write about them some more. First, a few warnings for Hunted: strong violence and some torture (although I don't believe it will be very graphic) definitely dominate this fic...as well as plenty of tears and angst to go around. It only remains rated T, but do keep in mind that this is not for the squeamish or those who don't like seeing our pretty little Elfsies and Aragorn hurt fairly badly...But I can't give too much away! Please leave reviews, and I'll try to post every week or so...I'm not entirely sure of the schedule or how many chapters as I am still writing...Thanks!_

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_Chapter One_

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A wolf crouched in the shadows of the bush. The sun had just fallen, and it was time for the last kill of the night. His eyes were trained specifically on the rabbit, two leaps away, that was sniffing curiously in the underbrush. The coarse gray fur stood up on his neck as he slunk forward, teeth barred. Paws worn by wood and stone made no noise as they treaded cautiously, the slim body hunched to the ground in anticipation. Tonight he would feast. 

But suddenly an explosion of sound echoed through the forest, and the rabbit, frightened, jumped and vanished. The wolf desperately leapt after the small herbivore but his actions were in vain, for the three sons of Elrond and heir of Thranduil had spoiled his hunt.

In a campsite ten yards away sat the twins Elladan and Elrohir, Legolas, and Estel, gathered around a campfire. They, ironically, were all enjoying a well-cooked meal of rabbit and dried fruit, complete with several rounds of wine; had they known that the rabbit they were at this moment consuming was currently the object of a desperate search party in the underbrush their hunger may have abated quite significantly. But, seeing as they had no knowledge of this saddening piece of information, they continued with their merry-making, their eyes aglow in the firelight.

All of them were enjoying themselves, save for one. (This is, of course, not counting the dead rabbit and his frantic companions.)

"Always laughing at the mortal's blunders, of course," Estel muttered, trying very hard to ignore the sudden outburst of hysterical laughter from his Elven companions. He stabbed a piece of meat in embarrassment, wondering how crimson his face had turned now.

"You did _what?_" Legolas exclaimed, hunched over in a peal of laughter. It had been the twins' turn for story-telling, and naturally Elladan picked a favorite of his involving their mortal foster brother and his first hunting trip.

"Yes..." The mortal groaned.

"He was so jumpy-" Elladan shared a smirk with Elrohir.

"-that he attacked…" said Elrohir dramatically, throwing his hands in the air for effect, as if he were announcing a king. He held his arms, extended out, towards his foster brother, grinning broadly and waiting expectantly for the Man to finish his sentence.

"A tree," Estel muttered ruefully, rolling his eyes at him.

"A TREE!" The twins hooted. They had obviously had far too much wine to begin with and were now rolling about, roaring with laughter and clutching their sides.

"Elladan fell off his horse he was laughing so hard," grumbled Estel as he jabbed the fire angrily with a stick. In reality, he was really not that mad with Elladan for bringing it up; he was just extremely embarrassed at how terrible he was as a young swordsman.

"You did not know what you had done wrong until your sword refused to part from your 'enemy'," Elrohir added, wiping the tears of laughter from his eyes.

Legolas shook his head with a small chuckle. "The minds of mortals are easily tricked, I see," he winked at Estel, who glared good-naturedly back.

"But the minds of Elves are easily distracted, for you did not notice that I stole your rabbit meat," Estel poked a fork in Elrohir's line of vision, and the twin reached for his plate apprehensively. Sure enough, the meat was gone.

Elladan laughed. "Brother, I believe a mortal has just outsmarted you!" he said with wide eyes and an equally wide grin.

"He...I...it could not have..." Elrohir spluttered, but Legolas patted him on the back comfortingly.

"Not to worry - I solemnly swear that I," Legolas stood proudly, placing his right hand over his heart and gazing intently at the dark canopy above him, "shall not tell a _single soul_ that our dearest Estel has outmatched the brightest of us, or may I be turned into a drunken prince!" He let his mock-oath ring in the clearing until suddenly shaking himself and looking about in surprise. "Oh, would you look at that! I am _already_ a drunken prince! I suppose I'm free to go, then, am I not?" Without another word he sprang onto a fallen log and shaded his eyes, pretending to search the non-existent horizon. His face lit up. "Oh, would you have a look at _that?_" he said in a sly undertone. "_There_ is that red-haired beauty that I spotted in Rivendell! I swear I saw her with Elrohir one afternoon in the garden…"

Elrohir flushed a deep shade of crimson – the biggest facial expression Estel had ever seen on his brother. His twin and foster brother began to laugh at his reaction.

Legolas turned with a roguish grin to look at Elladan. "I suppose I ought to go tell her-"

Letting out a cry of protest, Elrohir launched himself at the Elven prince with a cry of vengeance. Recognizing the chance to have a good bit of fun, Estel and Elladan glanced slyly at each other, turned back to the wrestling duo and let out outrageous battle cries, leaping onto their companions. And so they spent the remainder of their evening rolling about the earthen campsite when they weren't erupting into more laughter, thoroughly enjoying the brotherhood between them.

What Estel had said was true; the minds and thoughts of Elves, ones who were renowned for their keen perception and brilliance, were indeed (at least in this case) easily distracted, especially within borders they assumed were somewhat safe. By assuming they allowed themselves to let down their guard and, basically, raise utter chaos. That distraction was about to cost them dearly.

I+I+I+I+I+I+I+I

Estel served as watch that night, despite his companions' arguing that it was he who needed rest, not they. His stubbornness in the end won over, and he was allowed half the night's observance. After four hours he was instructed to awaken Elladan so he could take over from there. Legolas and the twins extinguished the fire but let the coals and ashes flicker and glow still (for on the east side of the Misty Mountains strange creatures flocked to the light, but there was greater danger in the darkness, so one needed to compromise between a roaring bonfire and utter darkness) and bedded down, telling Estel "good night" and found themselves absorbed in Elven dreams – dreams, that at least for Elrohir, may have even included a certain red-head.

The night passed slowly for Estel, however. The shadows had long ago blended into a thick blackness that hung over the area heavily as storm clouds gathered above the tree tops. It grew extremely quiet, save for the occasional rumble of thunder and light breeze that swept through, stirring the few spring leaves on the ground and causing an eerie rustle in the treetops. Peering up at the sky in the clearing, Estel saw lightning illuminate dark, roiling clouds.

_A tempest gathers._

Estel had been sitting for nearly four hours when he had first heard the storm draw near, but its rumbling mass began to ease him to sleep. His stomach, still full of rabbit, called for a nap, and so did his body weary of hunting and travel for two days. Before he knew it, his eyes had drooped closed, and the Ranger was sound asleep.

A few minutes later, Elladan looked over to see his foster brother asleep and sighed. _Leave it to Estel to fall asleep in the midst of an arrival of a storm. _He got up and gently laid his full-grown brother down into a more comfortable position and took his place at watch. Silently and alertly he listened to the tempest draw closer, the occasional thunder getting louder every time. The storm had awoken him. And so Elladan watched as the beauty of nature grew in power and strength until the storm was nearly overhead and ready to burst. The winds grew in strength and ferocity, but something made Elladan turn his attention from the storm and to his surroundings, and he realized with a jolt that the birds and beasts of the forest had gone silent. A foul wind blew from the east, whipping Elladan's hair into his face. He got up slowly, eyes wide and alert as they pierced the darkness for signs of movement. A warning had shot up in his head, for something smelled of danger on the air. He drew his blade quietly, still aware of sleeping friends behind him, and took a tentative step forward out of the clearing in the direction the wind had come carrying the foul scent. His ears listened hard for any sound out of place, although the wind and storm masked most of the forest sounds.

And so it was that he did not hear the hiss of enemy arrows until it was too late.

Suddenly the Son of Elrond was jolted backward by force, and out of instinct he let the momentum drive him to the ground for protection. His brother heard his fall, and Elrohir, Estel, and Legolas immediately rose. Elrohir saw Elladan clutch at a shaft in his shoulder as he was hunched over, and immediately seized his weapon.

"Elladan!" he cried, and leapt to his side. The older twin yanked the arrow from his shoulder with a wince, and forgetting the blood spilling out of his wound studied the black, crusty arrow anxiously.

"Orcs," he hissed, and hauling himself to his feet, swore and drew his sword, ignoring the flare of pain in his shoulder muscle as he moved. The sound of Legolas firing an arrow into the dark in response to two shots from the enemy made him spin around, and he saw Estel kick out the fire anxiously. The dim light would serve as a beacon and target, and already Elladan had a feeling that they were far outnumbered. "Spread out, watch all sides!" he cried, and nodded at Elrohir, who had a look of worry on his face. "We do not have time, brother," he told him softly, and Elrohir was forced to comply for the Orcs were readying their attack.

As if in response the sudden war cries of a great party of Orcs echoed through the clearing. Their thundering footsteps soon drew near enough for Legolas to see yellow eyes gleaming from afar, and he let loose a volley of arrows that were answered with shrieks of pain. But it was not enough to stem the tide. The Orcs kept coming, and they descended upon the four like mosquitoes in desire of fresh blood. The analogy was not far from the truth, for they leapt at each Elf (and Man) with a blood-lust that momentarily shocked the noble warriors. They soon recovered and met their foes with the same desperate rage, and fought bravely.

But something was wrong with Elladan.

He was stumbling often, and his vision grew foggy and slow. He felt his body weaken even as he slew enemies and more and more he had to concentrate harder. _That arrow was dipped in something. _Blood dripped into his eyes, and he wiped it away franticly as the world began to tilt and whirl before him. Whether it was his blood or an Orc's blood he had no time to tell, for to pause would mean to die. _Kill or be killed_, he thought wisely as he swung a sword at a shrieking enemy's neck. At least, he thought that was where he was swinging at. He never felt the contact of blade and flesh, for his coordination and balance never followed through, and he never slew the Orc. As his blade swung wide and he stumbled flashes of light burst before his eyes. Nothing had struck him as far as he knew, but blackness rose to engulf him nonetheless, and he collapsed to the ground.

It was Estel who saw Elladan fall. With a cry he leapt forward even as the Elf began to crumple, for he had noticed his brother's weakness and confusion. When Elladan's knees buckled beneath him Estel was still too far to be able to defend his brother's body, and he had not enough speed to reach his immortal brother before the Orcs' bodies had covered him. He shouted in anger and rage, screaming for them to release him as he shoved past, but they did not heed his words, like he knew they would do. They swarmed like termites over him, and in the chaos and twisting bodies both around Elladan and behind him he was not able to reach his Elven brother. An Orc, instead, leapt into his line of vision – vision that before had been only for Elladan – with a hideous scream. In the same moment Estel swung his sword to slay the attacker he felt the sudden prick of a dart in his side, but without a second thought he tore it from his flesh and tossed it aside. He continued on his killing spree, attacking all those who had begun to drag the unconscious form of Elladan away. But then a larger, fiercer Orc seized his attention, and he rushed forward to attack but arrows with green and white fletching suddenly peppered the Orc's chest and those around him.

Estel turned about, looking to Legolas in thanks and concern, for he had no idea how the Elf was currently fairing. But there the tall son of Thranduil stood, on a slight incline in the campsite, his bow still raised and arm reaching back for yet another arrow. Sapphire eyes met silver, and they shared unspoken thanks, but the connection was severed abruptly. Legolas had jerked abnormally, and a strange look came across his face. He pulled his gaze away, his weight shifting as he dropped his hands to clutch at his side. Estel immediately started forward, for only the worst of wounds caused Legolas to attend to himself. Elladan could not be saved now; he and the Orcs who had kidnapped him had vanished.

He drew within three yards and plain sight of Legolas when he witnessed a sight that caused his insides to churn. An Orc had driven its blade into Legolas' side – it had been that impact that had caused Legolas to look away – and upon wrenching the crusty scimitar from him Legolas had staggered slightly, reeling from shock and pain. But the attacker did it again, cackling at the Elf's suffering, and his scimitar tore through Legolas' flesh with a sickening squish and faint thud, cutting diagonally across the previous wound. This caused far more pain, for it was embedded deeper than previously. Legolas voiced his pain with a scream. He stumbled, face twisted in agony, clutching at the metal scimitar with fingers that did not possess the strength to draw it out.

Estel flinched at the terrible sound of the Elf's sweet voice straining at his vocal limit and leapt forward to save him. The prince crumpled to his knees, the sword still embedded in him, his eyes shut tightly. A flash of silver caught Estel's eyes, and he watched as the enemy that had wounded Legolas was slain by the prince's blade even as the Elf knelt in agony. He did not look at the Orc as he slew it, his arm twisted behind him as he gutted it, but remained kneeling and with eyes closed. But the sword fell useless from Legolas' hand as the scimitar was ripped from him once more as the Orc fell, and he let out a vulnerable cry of pain.

Estel caught the Elf nimbly when he toppled forward, and found the prince absorbed in pressing his perfect fingers to the sickening slashes across his side. Blood streamed from his deep wounds, and the Elven prince shuddered and gave a low moan as he shut his eyes tightly. Estel felt his heart clench and his eyes briefly closed. Valar, nothing made Legolas this weak. Nothing made him scream in such a way.

Elrohir appeared out of nowhere in the chaos, rushing to Legolas and Estel's aide, his brow furrowed in anger and worry. Standing guard over them and fighting valiantly, he saw Legolas' feeble attempts to stand. Estel helped him, but he only staggered and crumpled once more with a weak groan. Elrohir swore. That was two now. Now it was Estel and him against a force that seemed like thousands. There were probably only less than a hundred in reality, but it did not matter. They were still outnumbered, one of them gravely wounded, another unconscious and hidden away, and those that were left were losing terribly.

Estel blinked to clear his vision as two Legolas' coughed below him. His hands hung useless at his side although he knew he should be helping Legolas somehow. Something was odd. He couldn't focus, and the world began to sway. The Ranger began to wobble, and he vaguely heard his brother cry out in warning. As if dumb he turned slowly and unsteadily, looking at the Elf who he'd called brother for nearly fifteen years now. Hazily Estel raised his sword and tried to stumble to his feet to join him, because Elrohir suddenly seemed frightened and frantic when he met his eyes. He seemed to be warning him. But warning him against what?

A club smashed into his head in answer without warning, and everything plunged into darkness.

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_To be continued..._

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_Thanks for reading, please leave a review! Until the next post..._


	2. II: Chains

**Hunted**

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_Well, hello once more! Posting once a week should be working well, so expect postings roughly every 6-7 days. Many of you commented on wanting to know the state of dear Elrohir - your wish has been granted. And yes, this is an unfinished tale, but I am writing about 2-3 chapters ahead of everything I'm posting, so I shouldn't ever be delayed in posting chapters because I've got three weeks to work! Hurrah!_

_Thanks to **Calenlass Greenleaf1, Eli, MDarKspIrIt, Viresse, Gord and V **(have you seen V for Vendetta yet?? haha), **the randomer, Fluffy's Fangirls, **and **Seira Ayuda **for their wonderful reviews!_

_Oh! I can't believe I'd forgotten - my disclaimer!_

Disclaimer: I own nothing of Professor Tolkien's work, and gain no benefit (besides emotional) from my writings.

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**Chapter Two

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**Elrohir swore heatedly when Estel was beaten to the ground. Elladan was nowhere to be seen, and with an angry shout answered an Orc's attack with a parry and vengeful kick to the stomach before twirling to meet another Orc."Elladan!" he cried, glancing furtively for the identical raven head to appear out of the chaos. But there was nothing but _yrch_. 

He ducked a scimitar hurtling towards his neck, thrust his blade into the attacker's stomach and pulled away, black blood spurting onto his knife. "Elladan?!"

He spun around, hoping to catch his brother in the opposite direction, but massive hordes of Orcs met him once more. Parrying several strikes and dodging others, he defended himself well while scanning the heads hurriedly. Then he heard his twin's _faer, _buried beneath the sounds of battle, resonate dully and unresponsively.

"_ELLADAN!"_

His brother had fallen.

The Son of Elrond swore again, this time feeling panic constrict his heart. His strength was waning, and he realized with a sinking feeling that all of the Orcs had turned their attention to him. They were attacking him from all sides. He could scarcely move, let alone breathe. To stop would mean death. He and his brother had learned that long ago from his father. But Valar, why couldn't he be here now? Where was help? Where was Elladan? What twist of fate had brought them here, the sons and heirs of some of the most important lords in all of Arda, just to have them slain? Why did-?

Someone let out a screech, ordering something in a terrible language that Elrohir could not comprehend. The Orcs suddenly pulled back, leaving him stranded and alone in the center of their circle, breathing hard. He looked from glazed eye to glinting orb, all around him, searching for their purpose.

"Finish it!" he cried. "You have killed my companions. Kill me now!" Rage blinded him. But this was not their ways. They did not leave their prey alive. Why was he an exception? He had seen Estel and Legolas fall, and he dared not think of his brother's fate.

But then suddenly, there was Elladan. Two Orcs shoved through the ranks, and Elrohir felt chills shiver down his spine at the sight of them. In their crusty black hands hung his unconscious brother, his best friend, half his heart and soul.

"Elladan," he breathed, and immediately rushed forward. But one of his enemies leapt out and stuck hard with a club, and before he had taken three steps Elrohir crumpled, clutching his right leg after hearing a sickening crunch in his knee.

"That was a warning, Son of Elrond."

Elrohir looked up, his gray eyes flashing dangerously when he met the steely yellow stare of the Orc captain. He rose slowly, favoring his broken leg but remaining strong and fierce.

"The next false step you make your brother shall suffer for," the captain continued, eyes glinting evilly. He produced a small dagger and pressed it against Elladan's throat. Elrohir stiffened. "Drop your weapon."

He glanced about, weighing his options, and saw Estel and Legolas being dragged away. He heard Legolas' quiet moans and his heart clenched. Valar, he could do nothing. If they slew Elladan they would not stop from slaying Legolas. And then they would slay Estel. _They would destroy Aragorn, Man's only hope._

The clatter of a blade hitting the ground echoed eerily in the silence. Elrohir closed his eyes, and did not fight when the Orcs seized him roughly and dragged him away.

I+I+I+I+I+I+I+I

Rain fell in gusting torrents. The Orcs set up camp in the midst of it, taking care of their prisoners by snapping iron manacles about their wrists and locking them to an ancient oak. They left them sprawled on the edge of the clearing, unconscious, and so they lay in the same position for nearly an hour as the rain drenched their bodies, lightning illuminated their wounds, and thunder resonated in their chains.

Elladan awoke to find it still dark out, but the roaring fire threw crimson light on the entire clearing. But what he was most grateful for was that the moon glowed beyond the trees. The storm had passed. Groaning softly, he sat up and blinked the fogginess from his vision. It took him a few moments to gather his wits, but when he did he nearly stopped breathing.

They were prisoners in an Orc camp. There were nearly seventy-five Orcs in camp, all armed and strong. He vaguely began to calculate the odds, wondering if they could possibly escape. If the four of them were relatively uninjured...

Quiet coughing caught his ear. He turned around, the manacles clanking noisily. Legolas' body shifted before him not four feet away, and trembling bloody hands moved to clasp his side. Elladan's gaze shifted to focus on where Legolas was holding himself, and his lips parted in silent grief when he saw the gaping 'x' wound across his ribs. Quickly he crawled forward to stroke the Elf's shoulder comfortingly as he once more began to cough and moan.

Tired sapphire eyes flitted up to meet silver when Elladan drew near. "Elladan," he began, voice hushed and rough.

"Hush," the twin interrupted his friend gently but firmly. His gaze took in the wound with clear vision and understanding. At a loss for words, he stated the obvious: "You are hurt."

Legolas coughed once more. "Yes," he answered softly. He closed his eyes and tried to slow his breathing as Elladan stroked the prince's damp hair comfortingly. He touched the pale forehead, feeling for fever.

"You do not appear ill, a fact we may be lucky to claim," he tried to smile. Legolas returned one halfheartedly, probably more so for the sake of his friend than in humor. Elladan sobered quickly, but quietly began to unfasten Legolas' shirt. Tenderly pulling it from the wound and over the prince's head, he tore it so that he would be able to remove it from the manacles. Leaving the prince's pale green undershirt on, he tied the thick hunting attire around his chest, impeding the slow ooze of the blood.

"There," Elladan murmured when he was finished. He sat back, metal clanking as he did, and studied his handiwork. Legolas nodded, touching the makeshift bandage tentatively.

Sapphire eyes met gray once more. "Thank you," Thranduil's son whispered, bringing a hand dripping in bright blood to feel the chains locked about his other wrist. He said nothing as he tested the iron. After a few seconds he laid his trembling hands down once more, shaking his head. "I cannot break this. With my knives, more than likely. Without them, no. Before tonight I might have been able to, given several minutes, but I am too weak now. Far too weak for anything." Sadly, he closed his eyes as his voice grew hushed, and he lay in silence.

Elladan looked to his brothers. Estel was stirring, and he could have sworn he saw Elrohir's hand twitch. In a few moments they both rose and sat blinking in the darkness as their eyes adjusted.

"Elladan? Are you all right?" Elrohir asked softly.

Elladan moved to his twin's side. "Aye, and my arrow wound only pains me slightly. And you?"

He heard his brother's breath catch slightly in a wince as he shifted. "My leg is broken, but I will manage," he answered.

Elladan grimaced, but turned to Estel. "And you, Estel?"

"A headache the size of Mirkwood," he groaned, holding his head in his hands. His comment drew a feeble laugh from Legolas, but he broke into soft whimpers quickly as it pained him. Estel looked up foggily. "Oh Valar, Legolas…" He had only now remembered how he had last seen his companion.

"Do not trouble yourself, Estel," Legolas murmured as Estel crawled to his side. "I'm all right."

Elladan shook his head when his brother touched his shoulder. "He does not speak the truth," he explained softly. "The wound is grievous; I doubt he could stand, let alone fight, without enduring extreme pain."

"You are not the only cripple, Legolas," Elrohir smiled sadly. "I, too, cannot stand."

He saw Legolas shift to look at him in the pale moonlight. "But, my dear friend," the prince interjected quietly, "you are not in danger of bleeding to death before dawn."

A hammer seemed to fall on their hope, smashing it to pieces at Legolas' words. It was not simply the prospect of Legolas in serious danger that scared them; it was the fact that he was accepting it.

Estel stiffened. "Do not speak like that," he hissed. He fumbled for the manacles on Legolas' hands. "We shall get out of here, I swear to you. We will all make it out alive. Do you understand?"

Legolas did not look at him.

"_Do you understand?"_ The Ranger gripped his shoulder and drew the Elf's attention. Legolas nodded faintly, and gave a sad smile. He opened his mouth to speak, but the sight of Elladan abruptly turning his head toward camp caught his attention.

"What is it?" Legolas said, his voice husky, the one hand resting on his chest rising and falling slightly with the shallow breaths that he drew. He was hurting far too much to concentrate or listen.

Elladan's eyes closed. "They have caught someone," he said.

As if on cue the arrival of a small party of Orcs echoed in the quiet night. The four of them turned their bright eyes to the far end of the clearing, watching with a sad glimmer in their eyes as another captive was revealed.

Hysterical sobbing was soon engulfed by many harsh voices speaking at once. Someone yelled for silence, and his wish was granted. An Orc began to explain: "We found another Elven party out east during our patrol. We slaughtered the two males and brought back the other." A hiss of pleasure rose in unison from the enemy's lips.

"Were they a search party?" The captain snarled anxiously.

"No, captain."

"Good." The captives could hear the manic grin in the Orc as he continued. "It's our prize for the evening, a little toy for our delight before we tickle the others."

Shrieks and cackles of excitement rose in volume as the Orcs leapt to engulf the poor Elf that had been captured. The captive's voice grew frantic and desperate, screaming for release. Estel closed his eyes and turned his head away as the pleadings continued, although they were beginning to morph into screams and shrieks of pain and terror. "They should have killed him when they found him. It would have spared him much pain."

Elrohir shook his head sadly. "This one will suffer what we cannot," he murmured.

Estel's brow furrowed. "What do you mean?"

His brother looked at him. "It is a little girl."

Thunder echoed loudly in the clearing as if sealing fate. The realization struck hard, and the sound of cloth ripping made it worse. The Elven brothers turned away, already dreading the cries and sobs that would soon accompany the beating of the young maiden. Their horror only grew as her screams intensified and tore through their hearts. It burned their hearts and minds, and made waiting for what they were sure would await them even worse.

Legolas' heart screamed along with her. He was afraid of what would happen if he saw the poor girl, and so he kept his head turned away. His sapphire eyes were open and glimmering with tears. The voice sounded familiar, although he shouted at himself to let go of all connections to her. To sympathize with her would mean more anguish for him. He was suffering enough already, for he greatly feared the torture of that they were doomed to be victim. But his heart was too soft, and he could not force the pain away. The prince moaned. "Can we do nothing to spare her?"

Elladan shook his head. "Nay, my friend," he whispered. "We can do nothing. No distraction will avert their attention from this kind of prize."

Tears of pain and grief shone in Legolas' eyes. Next to him Estel swore quietly, still rubbing the back of his head where a large bump remained. "Mordor will pay for this," he vowed in a low voice.

"Aye," the others murmured, too pained to say much more. The girl was wailing in the camp, crying for her father and mother. Her screams would continue for what felt like hours before they stopped, and when they did each of the captives felt a rush of relief as well as grief for her.

They deposited her unconscious body amongst them shortly afterwards. Various cuts and bruises decorated her fair skin, and her arm was broken. She had nearly-white hair and was a tiny thing. Perhaps nine in mortal years, but Elves and Men were not easily compared.

The captives gathered around her closely, trying to help her as much as possible. Even Legolas struggled up and pulled himself over to her side despite the twins' warnings. "Let me see her," he requested softly. "I have heard her voice before."

Estel pulled back to let him see the lovely yet pale face. He heard the soft intake of breath beside him, and took it for shock at the terrible abuse and her raw, sweet age. But Legolas had noticed all that and more.

"Valar, it is Alassiel," he breathed. He reached out in horror and touched her cheek. The others turned to him, horrorstruck.

"You recognize her?"

"She is the captain's daughter," Legolas' voice broke. "I am close friends with her father, Taidîr. By Eru, she is but a child still…Taidîr and Adlanniel had…" He trailed off when his eyes took in the sight of her unconscious body. Her clothing was torn and bloodied, her body in a far worse state. She had endured terrible assault. _She is lucky to be alive._

He broke down and wept. "Valar, she is so young and innocent…" Legolas pulled her close as best as he could manage and tried to cradle the poor girl. She began to stir as his tears struck her pale face, and several moments later emerald eyes gazed up in anguish at him.

_Those same emerald eyes sparkled with laughter when they found his crystal orbs. Grinning broadly and shouting his name, she bounded ahead of her loving parents when the door to the antechamber was barely wide enough for her to squeeze through. She skipped forward, brandishing a crude bouquet of daffodils and wildflowers in her small hand…_

_He had watched her earlier that afternoon, her ashy hair gleaming in the pale autumn sun, as she giggled and squealed in her parents' warm embrace. They had been on a picnic, one of the last before the frost, eating cheese and bread and fresh fruit from a woven basket and sharing in each others' company. Taidîr had kissed Adlanniel softly beneath the golden boughs as their child pranced through the meadow. They had waited a great deal of time to have a child, a choice that suited each other well. That very offspring was now aglow with life, warmer than the sun and sweeter than honey. She could never stop smiling, nor could she stop loving her mother and father as much as she did…_

"Prince Legolas…?" the quavering girl spoke in a hushed voice.

Legolas' mind snapped forward to the present, away from the memory that had transpired only two weeks ago. "Hush," he whispered. "I am only Legolas to you. Rest now, you are safe with me."

"We are free?" she gasped out, weakly twisting her small bloody fingers into his equally-bloody tunic.

He shook his head slowly. "No," he admitted. "But we will protect you."

Despite his reassurances Alassiel began to panic. "They'll hurt me! Kill them, please! I do not want to be hurt again. I want _Nana_ and _Ada_…I want _Nana _and _Ada!"_ Wracking sobs plagued her thin frame. She began to tremble and desperately curled into a tiny ball, pulling her ripped clothes closer around her for warmth and comfort. "_Saes…_" she wailed, and they could do nothing to comfort her.

Half an hour later her breathing had calmed slightly, but her eyes flitted across everything in the clearing apprehensively. They knew she was young. She had yet to gain the calm, collected demeanor of Elves, but they took pity on her, realizing that they were able to coolly handle themselves in an Orc camp because they had been toughened by battle. This girl, however, had barely begun her lessons. She stared at Estel as if he had sprouted a third head, repulsed by his stubble and unruly hair, and then watched the identical twins in fascination. When they smiled at her, she buried her face in Legolas' chest.

"Alassiel," Estel began, and she turned her head so wide eyes could watch the youthful mortal fearfully, "I am Estel of Rivendell."

"We are Elladan and Elrohir of Rivendell," the twins said together.

"We will protect you," Estel assured her, masking their conversation in Sindarin, "We are seasoned fighters, you will be-"

"Safe?" Her green eyes blinked at the man. "You four were captured by these monsters and I am to believe that you can protect me, without weapons, from them?"

"There are more ways of defending you than fighting," Estel answered smoothly.

"We can draw attention away from you," Legolas joined in.

"In the morning I can search for herbs and make healing poultices," Elladan added.

"And we will work together to get ourselves out of this Valar-forsaken place," Elrohir finished darkly.

Alassiel, still curled up in Legolas' arms, stared at them with huge eyes. The firelight flickered dully on her expressionless face. She seemed to be waiting, weighing the odds, deciding if she should take the chance…

She pulled herself from Legolas' sheltering embrace and stepped over the rusting chains to the twins, still watching them with her large emerald eyes from behind loose strands of her buttermilk hair. Her left arm broken, she reached out with her right arm to the brothers, who quickly gathered her in and held her between their warm bodies.

"_Hannon le_," she whispered.

"There is no need for thanks," Elrohir assured her. He and his brother rubbed her back gently, and were reminded oddly of their own little sister, their evening star, and how she would come to their room in the middle of the night just for this sort of attention when she had a nightmare, or when their father or mother were detained on some sort of excursion. That was years ago, but it was easy enough to remember how to comfort a little _elleth_.

After a hug from Estel she returned to her place next to Legolas, curling up on his uninjured side, and the twins made her comfortable with the outer layer of their hunting attire keeping her warm.

_She is so close to freedom, _Elladan noted to his brother. They had noticed her unbound wrists and ankles, while their chains clanked noisily as they moved their wrists. Their chains, if laid out on the ground, would resemble something close to a 'Y', with the split ends allowing their hands a little movement and the single end anchored heavily to the tree. It was an awfully permanent anchoring, and the realization of such sent shivers of worry down their spines.

_Aye, but not when there is a double perimeter around us. _

Elladan looked up at his brother, who nodded toward the underbrush. Sure enough, he saw the glint of eyes watching them, and several sets glaring out maybe five feet behind those. The little band of captives was surrounded by a double perimeter even within the Orc camp, and yet they were allowed to carry on conversation – most of it in Sindarin – freely. It was an odd combination, and something deep within their hearts warned them that this capture was not just for a "bit o' fun" as one of the Orcs put it. This was something entirely different.

"Estel, do you sing?"

The little girl's innocent question broke the twins out of their reverie and they looked to their brother, who was nodding. "Of what should I sing, _tithen-iell?_"

"Anything."

Estel glanced at his brothers and Legolas, inviting them silently to join whenever they saw fit. Then he opened his mouth, and the song began.

His tenor voice lifted in his smooth melody. He painted a picture of his memories, of his love for his brothers and companions, of the sweet city that he called home. He sang, in his lilting, smooth voice, of innocent travels to distant or not-so-distant lands. They could feel warm wheat beneath their fingers, the blessed rays of the sun warming their face, young green leaves wet with the morning's dew dampening their clothes. The felt the season's change, through the ice of winter to the blaze of summer, and nothing remained a constant save the comforting touch of a friend in his heart.

The twins began their melody with their companionship when Estel's music dropped to a soft piano, still pushing through his crescendos and sliding back into the soft rhythm as his brothers took the stage. There was a tightly woven harmony between them, as complex and difficult as naming every star in the night sky, as their voices lifted and fell like the ocean waves that had carried their mother away from them. Their closeness was defined by their ability to harmonize at will, complementing the other all the while, giving each other's separate melody life and light above Estel's accompanying hum.

When Legolas began to sing they felt stars raining down upon them from the gods, showering them with tastes of fiery battles and noble kingships that had defined the prince's life. His voice did not quaver or falter, instead ringing as clearly as a drawn sword. He sang with bravery and dared to touch high notes with great courage, but his voice did not pull attention from the others'. He held his head high, letting his heart fly freely, as his dangerous life spilled before him into the night sky.

Before Alassiel's eyes glazed over with Elven sleep she saw four distinct persons before her:

A dark Man of only twentysome years, crowned with the sunlight, was being guided towards his dreaded, ever-looming future with the support of his friends and family.

Two identical Elves quietly held hands, their hearts incomplete without the other, mixtures of pain and bliss swirling in their memories.

The Elf that held her sat proudly, framed against the trees of his forest home with a circlet of stars upon his brow, and in his crystal eyes she could see glimmers of fantastic battles beneath the canopy, treaties and trade conducted under the boughs, and a handful of precious, cheerful memories in a sea of troubles.

And their song, too soft to be heard by their captors, drifted sadly into the black of night.

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_To be continued..._

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	3. III: Choice

**Hunted**

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_A/N: Once more, I return! Thanks to everyone who reviewed - **LazloTitan, the randomer, StrangerToTheWorld, Gord and V **(seen it yet?!?)and **Seira Ayuda **for all your lovely thoughts. Keep them coming!_

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_Chapter Three_

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Half an hour passed before they tired. Quietly, they lay down on the cold, hard ground, not sleeping, but simply thinking. 

And they were thinking about freedom.

Camping in a grove of trees just southwest of the Forest Gate on the edge of Mirkwood did not make escaping to civilization easy. They were due to arrive in Legolas' father's halls in four to five days and a Misty Mountain pass and a four-day walk stood between them and Rivendell.

They were stranded, and the odds were against them.

1. There was no way any of them could get away undetected. The band of captives was surrounded within the camp, and they knew that the camp was doubly secure by the sounds of the Orcs rustling loudly in the underbrush twenty yards out.

2. Their chains were unbreakable without their weapons. Elrohir had proved this by sitting for two hours attempting in every way possible to break through the chains, and had gotten nowhere.

3. They had no horses, having traveled on foot from Rivendell after setting out several days past.

4. Their provisions were taken or scattered, their weapons hidden away.

5. Although the Orc camp had bedded down for the night sentries still patrolled around them, and the captives dared not speak openly without hiding their conversation in their native tongue.

6. They were confident that eventually they would escape this damned place, though in what manner they were not sure.

What they were sure of was this:

There was no one in the nearest one hundred miles to hear them scream.

I+I+I+I+I+I+I+I

It was after midnight. They had been in the Orc camp for maybe six hours now, but their wine-passing jokes and hearty food that had transpired prior to the arrival of hell seemed nothing more than a distant memory.

Alassiel slept restlessly, but at least she slept. There was no such thing as rest for the men. Legolas did not relinquish his hold on the young girl, though he grew weary, and Elladan had to hold him steady to keep him from collapsing onto his back. He lay with one arm curled protectively around the girl, silently watching her sleep.

"Legolas…"

The Elven prince stirred slightly. "Aye?" he murmured, not taking his eyes from the girl.

"We need to do something," Elladan confided quietly.

Legolas remained still, his crystal eyes staring into the Orc camp that rumbled with snoring and grunts. "What can we do, Elladan? We are guarded on all sides…"

Elladan shook his head. "You forget that _yrch _cannot climb trees."

"And you forget that I cannot stand."

"Legolas?" Estel suddenly asked, unintentionally interrupting the soft conversation.

The prince groaned softly. "Yes, Estel?" he managed with a slightly irritated tone. He wanted nothing but to sleep right now, or at least close his eyes.

"Have you noticed anything odd about our captors?"

He gave an extremely light, weak chuckle as he lightly stroked Alassiel's gleaming hair. "You forget, Estel; I have been semi- or completely unconscious for the first five and a half hours, so nay, I have not have time to notice anything odd about our captors."

Behind him the twins smiled. Estel remained as serious as ever. "They sought not to kill us; instead, capturing us alive with poisoned darts…" he mused. "We have spent record time in an Orc camp, and have failed to be executed yet-"

"And the captain," Elrohir interjected, and all eyes turned to him, and even Legolas managed to pull himself into a sitting position against the tree with only a wince, "he seems to be far more intelligent than any Orc I have ever seen. He used Elladan as bait," his said darkly, "and threatened to kill him if I did not lay down my weapon." His twin quietly took his hand when he felt shudders slip down his brother's spine.

"They were worried about Alassiel being part of a search party," Elladan recalled.

"And the fact that we are all gathered here and were captured together, sons of the some of the most influential lords in all of Arda, could not have been more coincidental," Legolas added ruefully, shifting so Alassiel could lie comfortably in his lap.

That disturbing bit of news settled heavily on the wounded companions, leaving them in contemplative silence.

"What do we do?" Estel murmured, his voice subdued and small.

Elladan looked at Estel for a long moment, taking in the young futures before him. The man was not even twenty years old, and yet he was an accomplished warrior. All he lacked now was experience, but by the dark gray eyes that barely hid beneath a jagged crop of black hair the brothers knew that he was not a force to be reckoned with when he was determined. He had character, he had warmth, he had tender love, and he even had a fascination with his foster sister, whom he had seen but once in his entire lifetime. But he also was strong, courageous, stubborn, and even a little hot-headed at times. He would grow out of it soon enough and develop his late mother's coolness of mind, but now they had to entertain a rough, somewhat reckless youth that was determined to live up to his Elven friends and brothers in spirit and strength, as well as in love.

Elladan's fair, smooth face was hidden behind a curtain of shoulder-length dark hair as he took his foster brother in. He saw a man who had learned of the future he was destined for not long ago, a man who despised his ancestors for forcing such a responsibility upon him when all he wanted to have was his family. It was then that Elladan knew what they must do.

He turned sharply and met his brother's eyes, features mirrored by his own, telling his understanding to him silently. They shared a long moment together, silver reflecting off of silver, before turning to Legolas. Not a single word had been spoken between them. One set of sapphire met two pairs of steel, and it was as if a woolen blanket had been thrown over the clearing; tensions spiked through the roof, and Estel almost worried that accidentally brushing his chains with his fingertips would send a zap of electricity through him. They were arguing, though why Estel had not been included he did not know, and was both offended and troubled at the thought.

_We are weaker separated…_

_Aye, but it would save him, and you…_

_I? I could only stand if my life depended on it, and only for a few minutes._

_As I…_

_Who would go with him?_

_Would he go to Rivendell or Lasgalen?_

_Surely Lasgalen, it is far closer and less treacherous than the pass._

_But the Orcs are branded with the mark of the Hill of Sorcery…_

_Aye, they are._

_How would he leave? How could he leave? He would never abandon us!_

_But he __**must.**_

_You do not understand; his loyalty streak runs far deeper than any of us know-_

_I __**do**__ understand, you forget that I helped raised him!_

_He will not leave._

_He MUST!_

_But he will not._

_Then he will die here, and the race of Men will be doomed. _

_Who gives a damn about Men-_

_I cannot believe I heard those words grace your lips, Elrohir. You know he does not embrace his destiny, and you know he never will. He has tried to be one of us-_

_One of US? He already is one of us. Nothing, not even a matter of mortality, will force me to say otherwise._

_But he is still a Man, and we must look to his weaknesses, the importance of his life…_

Then the twins suddenly pulled away, backing out of the fight by closing their eyes and tipping their heads slightly. The disagreement was over, but the tension had not released. It was waiting, suffocating them as it draped low over their heads.

When Elladan turned back to their foster brother reluctance and determination swam in his crystal pools. "We need to get you out of here," he said at last, speaking in his native tongue.

"What-"

"_You must leave!"_

Unsure of what to make of the sudden harsh tones, the mortal looked warily from one twin to the other. "If you think I will be leaving without you-"

"Yes, Aragorn, we do."

There was the sickening sound of flesh slamming into flesh and Elladan reeled back from the blow. But even as he fell back his attacker leapt forward, seizing his dark tunic and wrenching him closer. Estel's warm breath fell upon his aching jaw. _"Never, NEVER call me that!"_ he roared. His young eyes blazed dangerously, threateningly, a stare that he saved only for his most terrible of enemies.

Elladan remained silent, slight shock in his wide eyes, but it would taste a lie to say he did not expect a negative reaction. Elrohir had already pulled Estel back, holding him at his chain's length and studying the pair carefully. "Calm yourself," Elrohir requested softly, his grip gentle, soothing, but firm. "You know why you must leave." His silver gaze held underlying meanings, and Estel shuddered slightly as the glinting orbs flashed in the moonlight, a flash of color suddenly too much like the shards of the sword he had been given months past. He did not say anything.

"Elrohir, help me," Legolas hissed painfully from two feet away as he struggled to undo the makeshift bandage. The Son of Elrond moved to his companion's side at his request, leaving Estel slowly and giving Elladan a reprimanding look that said _'You must not encourage more of that'_.

The Man was the first one to speak. "I will not leave you." Estel's eyes were defiant and the promise, although made quietly, was as solid as stone. In his face you could see it; his mind was resolute, the classic 'I will win, so there is no use arguing.'

Elladan merely smiled, touching Estel's shoulder sadly. "Brother, I know that look, but you also know that you have never been a match for Elrohir and me." Estel felt his fists clench as his brother's eyes hardened, readying for a heated argument. "If you create a scene you will have us killed; you know that. Why must I chastise you like an Elfling?"

"Because I remember my friends." Estel's glare was cold, yet smoldering like hot coals. "Look at Legolas!" Silver eyes followed his gaze, finding the seriously injured Elf. The prince's forehead was home to beads of sweat as he held his wound with trembling hands. "He will die here of wounds alone within three days. How can you ask him to stay here and die, Elladan? How can you make that choice for him?"

When he met his Elven brother's eyes again he found deep regret in their silver pools, and for a moment he could say nothing more.

"He…he will only slow you down," Elladan murmured quietly, not daring to trust his voice above a whisper but met his foster brother's eyes honestly. "He knows that, and you must understand that it is critical that _you_ survive this, not us. If we are killed, the realms we are from will still function, but if you die, so will every glimmer of hope in the hearts of Men! You are the future of this earth, Estel," he reminded him quietly, "and although they say the past shapes the future you cannot shape the future from your grave."

Estel fixed him with a fierce look, as though he was getting ready to punch him, for reminding him so kindly of his not-so-distant future. He opened his mouth to speak but was interrupted by the terrible splattering sound of blood and a low moan. Immediately they rushed to Legolas' side, finding him gripping a large piece of metal between bloody fingers. Elrohir was swearing vociferously, hastily trying to impede the rush of blood from the now-gaping wound with his bare hands but failing miserably so far. "_Garich i dhôl goll o Orch! _That was keeping you from bleeding to death, you-"

"Estel," Legolas murmured, interrupting Elrohir's long strain of curses. He beckoned him closer and quickly pressed something cold but dripping with a warm, sticky substance into his hand. _Do not let them see,_ the Elf warned, glancing at the Orcs around them.

Estel hesitantly peered through the darkness, trying to decipher what had been placed in his hand… "Use it to help cut through the chains," Legolas murmured, his eyes glimmering in the opaque moonlight. The man shifted, trying to get a better look without exposing the odd piece of metal. It was a broken piece of an Orc scimitar.

"You are putting your life on the edge so I can-"

Although he was weak Legolas still had the strength to pierce the man with a sapphire stare that brooked no argument. "Yes, I have, and now it is for you to decide if I might give my life in vain," his voice, though it was low, was surprisingly icy in the sweet Elven tongue. "If you will not listen to your brothers, listen to me. If you leave, we have a chance of surviving this. You can get help. I will be as useless as a sack of potatoes, Elrohir cannot stand, and Elladan will not be parted from his brother. Do not even think about demanding that Elladan go with you; when was the last time you have ever seen the twins apart?" When Estel did not answer, he continued in a softer voice. "_Saes, hebo estel._ We will be all right, I swear to you.

"You will leave by means of the trees, and never once stepping foot on the ground until you have reached the borders of these woods. Then you will slowly make your way across the small stretch of wild grass. You will then be at the Forest Gate. It is not guarded by my people but continue along our path and eventually you will meet up with them. I trust you know not to stray from the path nor touch the Enchanted River when you reach it. I cannot guarantee that we will all live to see you again-" Estel gripped his friend's forearm and was beginning to protest, but Legolas ignored him, "-but I can guarantee that whatever happens we will never blame you for anything, and that wherever we are, whether in this world or the next, we will be all right."

Estel stared at his friend, his own gray eyes barely visible in the shadow of his black, scraggly hair. Behind him and after taking the metal from him the twins had inconspicuously broken the chains within minutes. Upon hearing the final _chink_ of metal he seemed to be stirred from a reverie. He blinked once, clearing his vision of tears, and bent down and touched Legolas, forehead to forehead, while gripping his forearm. "I will not abandon you," he promised softly. He turned, embraced his brothers, made similar promises, and moved to the side of the tree that was hidden in darkness. Elladan seized a small rock just barely in reach and tossed it into the underbrush on the opposite side of their little holding area, diverting the Orcs' attention for a few seconds.

Then they saw Estel, barely visible under the cover of darkness, look at them one last time and let a single, silver tear fall. It sparkled in the light of the moon that was peeking out from behind the clouds, and then was gone, vanishing into the canopy above without a sound, along with its master.

Elrohir examined the scimitar piece in the moonlight. "Ruined," he concluded sadly, running his fingers across the now-blunt and dull edges. He tucked the thick piece of metal into his shirt, the piece cold against the skin above his heart. They moved to Legolas' side to comfort the weary prince.

"It will take him four days to reach the Halls of Lasgalen, and two to return if on horseback," Elladan murmured darkly, gently brushing pale strands of hair out of Legolas' eyes. His words were spoken more as a warning than stating fact.

The prince nodded slowly. "I know," he whispered. He winced as Elrohir pressed harder against his wound; the blood had only abated slightly. "How is Alassiel?"

"Unconscious," Elladan answered quietly. "She is a strong girl, but I cannot help but fear for her. With the reaction she had to the Orcs and her tender age I doubt she will live past two days…"

Legolas coughed and panted for breath, squeezing his eyes shut against a sudden onslaught of pain. "What I would give to be in her position," he said through gritted teeth.

Elladan and Elrohir exchanged a glance, but did not have the heart to argue against him. A long moment passed between them, a moment now heavily lacking something.

"I fear what they will do when they notice Estel is gone," Elrohir admitted, casting wary looks toward the slumbering Orc camp.

"Aye," said Legolas. Elladan did not answer immediately.

"Nay, brothers," he said at last. He grasped the arms of each of them, smiling sadly. "Without hope we may be, but we still face this together."

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_To be continued..._

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	4. IV: Brothers

**Hunted**

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_So sorry about the wait! I have been extremely busy with marching band and re-decorating and painting my room that I haven't had enough time to write! Expect posts every 1-2 weeks now with school beginning to start...so sorry for the delays..._

_A quick author's note: I would like to acknowledge the fact that I have been portraying the Elves in a more sensitive, almost human nature during their capture. This is somewhat on purpose because in my opinion capture and torture would tear down the best defenses in the best of us, and this is meant to be as in inside view of the Elves' heads during their ordeal, not from a mortal outsider who cannot understand Elven facial expressions/bodily reactions as well. Assume that the reader is an Elf and is able to recognize the forms of Elven fear, pain, and sadness, and voila! You have my point-of-view. _

_I do hope that made some degree of sense..._

_Another author's note: Rating will be high T in the following chapters to come - please use your discretion in reading, however there will not be any adult themes (such as a sexual nature) and the torture will not be too graphic. Again, please use your discretion._

_Please read and review - and pardon me for not replying to everyone's reviews immediately...still working on that..._

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**Chapter Four**

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A sunny morning greeted the remaining four, and the welcoming light only revealed far more bruises and wounds that could not have been seen the previous night.

Consciousness did not willingly return to Legolas. He struggled against it, wishing for blessed sleep that could grant him healing, but a striking pain in his side kept eliciting jerks of awareness. He would just begin to slip back into the dark realm of dreams when a sharper twang would streak through his nerves and he would be yanked brutally back to an inch below the surface of consciousness. He could almost see the sunlight pouring down on his face, but it would fade as he began drifting back down, blissfully slow and calm…

But he jolted awake when he felt the sliver of metal puncture his skin. The prince's eyes snapped open to find two identical raven heads bent over him, one's face marred with a slight grimace and the other giving a weak smile of encouragement. "Good morning," Elrohir murmured. Legolas' response was a hiss of pain as the metal slid through his skin and drew the sides of his wound together tightly. He twisted his head to see what was going on and found Elladan bent incredibly close to his wound, pushing a piece of metal with what appeared to be dark brown string tied to it.

"You are stitching my –_ ah –_ wound with a broken piece of the scimitar?" he asked incredulously, disgusted by the fact that the same remorseless piece of metal that had first inflicted the incredible amount of pain was being used to cause more.

"Aye," Elladan answered cheerfully, keeping his voice low. The Orcs still slept, albeit with loud, rattling snores. "Although it is a wee bit blunt, I might add, which is why I have to tug so hard." His smile faded, his tone growing more serious. "If there was any less-painful way to do this-"

"It does not matter," Legolas assured him, though he winced a moment later. "You were always a great healer."

"And a great thinker," Elrohir suddenly chuckled and gestured at the stitches. "_That _is the finest braid of Elven hair you would ever find. Elladan thought of it; the braid makes the stitches stronger, albeit thicker, though with his expertise at hair plating-"

"Will you give it a rest?!" Elladan groaned. "I am working to save his life and all you can talk about is my ability to braid hair-"

It was then that their lax guard awoke with a loud grunting snore. His one good eyeball scanned them over with hearty blood thirst, and when he saw Legolas' hands conceal the 'needle' that was being used on him the Orc stumbled to his feet with a growl. "Hiding a weapon, eh, pretty thing?" he snarled at the pale prince.

Elrohir quietly slid to shield the sleeping Alassiel from view, realizing that the situation was beyond their control. His brother's hands tightened into fists, poised on his knees and alert, ready to strike at Legolas' defense if things proceeded too far. Their eyes met briefly as the Orc sauntered over: _If we are not careful this could escalade into a massacre…_

The Orc, Olog, bent his reeking, fat mass over the Elven prince who lay silently. The sapphire eyes watched him coolly, although only the twins would have seen the flash of apprehension in them – _they will soon realize Estel is missing. _Elrohir's heart began to accelerate slightly, realizing that Legolas would be the closest in reach to the Orcs when they discovered a missing captive…

"Give it 'ere!" Olog grunted angrily, seizing Legolas' hand and wrenching it open, digging his gnarled fingernails into the perfect flesh, but not before Legolas could jam the piece of metal into the Orc's forearm.

Olog gave a howl of rage and pain and stumbled backwards, yanking the three-inch long strip out of his blackened skin. His eyes glinted lethally. "You _little-" _His rusted scimitar was suddenly in his heavy hand and the blade was suddenly hurtling through the air towards Legolas' heart.

Alassiel, now fully awake, gave a scream and Elrohir pressed her back into the ground, trying to stifle her but was just as horrified. His brother leapt into action, his arms outstretched towards the Orc. Elladan threw his wrists and chains over and around the blade and twisted it away, and it was his choked gasp that made everyone freeze.

The Elf was bleeding heavily. Blood poured from the point where his shoulder met his neck and his right arm dripped with bright red blood as well. In catching the blade with the chains that bound him he had had to loop his arm around and over it as well, and it had served to redirect the force of the blade up and towards him instead. But his eyes were defiant and bold, his face as emotionless as stone. Only his tightly-pressed lips showed his pain, as well as his quickness of breath. He was a split second away from the end and he knew it. He was almost daring Olog to twist the blade and finish the slice that would bring a bloody death. But no one moved. Legolas' panted breath grew quiet, Elrohir was frozen still, Alassiel was shaking with silent tears, and Olog was staring with hatred and shock plastered across his face at the Elf that had defied him so easily. And still, no one moved.

"Well, well, what do we have here?" The captain growled suddenly behind Olog. The Orc jumped and jerked his blade out of the knot of chains and limbs and spun to face his commander.

"The white one 'ad a weapon, Captain, and I was gonna to punish 'im, see, an' this one, well, he 'ot in the way-"

"You were a'supposed to get their weapons, you idiot!" The captain snarled. He, the tallest and strongest Orc, glared down at the insolent Orc in front of him. The guard growled threateningly.

"I did! Must've gotten it from the wound Mulvarg put in 'im," he protested angrily, taking a step forward. But as he did his clumsily-shod foot landed on Estel's broken chains, and they gave a snap as the weight broke their now-thin metal. The captain and he looked down, saw the broken chains, stared at the Elves (all of whom were still unmoving), stared back at the chains, glanced at each other, and then screeched the alarm.

The entire Orc camp was immediately in frenzy as they begun to franticly search for their lost prisoner, the captain particularly enraged. "FIND HIM!" he bellowed, "OR I'LL SEE TO IT THAT YOU ALL ARE THROWN IN THE TOWER!"

They shrieked in horror and took off, scattering like a disturbed ant hill.

Legolas, realizing all too quickly what was about to happen, seized one of their traveling cloaks that had lain discarded and wrapped Alassiel in it. She made no protest as he hurriedly placed her behind him, pressed her against the tree, and kept her partially blocked by his body.

"Promise me that no matter what happens you will not make a sound, nor will you move from this place, Alassiel," Legolas said, and his eyes pierced her with a stare that spoke nothing of the terror that caused his hands to tremble. She nodded, her limp buttermilk hair gleaming dully from the pain and exhaustion she had endured, her eyes were wide and fearful yet again, and Legolas turned back to the dreadful scene unfolding before him.

Elrohir had leapt for Elladan, seizing his bleeding brother and pulling him back, closer to Legolas and Alassiel. He was swearing under his breath, muttering something about 'now there's no needle to stitch _you_ up'. Elladan chuckled quietly only to flinch and hiss softly when Elrohir pressed hard against the wounds.

"That…much…pressure…isn't…needed…" the Elder twin ground out, but a look from Elrohir silenced him.

"I need you as less bloody as possible for what is to come," his brother warned. "Things are about to get very ugly…"

Sure enough the reports came flooding in. "We ain't findin' him!" the Orcs shrieked. "He's gone!"

The captain roared and whirled to face the Elves. "Which one of you let him go? What happened? _Which of you set him free?!"_

"THAT ONE!" Olog screeched, gripping his gushing forearm as he pointed at Elladan. The Elf paled, and his eyes widened ever so slightly. "He must've! That stupid little beast gots some dirty little tricks up his sleeve, I'll tell 'ou that, wit' twistin' my blade all up like that-"

"_Seize him!" _The captain screamed, his eyes alight with rage and bloodthirst, _"and he'll pay for what he's done!"_

The Orcs' heads had swiveled round to stare at the captives, and it was now that the Elves knew what they were up against.

Mauled, grimy, and horribly disfigured faces leered back at them, each one filled to the brim with malcontent and hatred. Hundreds of yellow eyes took on a bloodthirsty-red tone as they began to screech and scream, drawing their weapons and clanging them together. The fire was stirred, throwing eerie red light on their faces in the pale early-morning light. They rose as one, leaping to engulf the already-bleeding Elf, ready to exact revenge.

When the captain's greasy, mauled hands tangled in the Elf's hair and wrenched him out of Elrohir's grasp an iron clamp smashed his heart. "Elladan," he breathed, unable to speak any louder, his body frozen and unable to rise to his defense.

Their intense gray eyes met. A warning was issued from the captured: _do not make a sound_.

Elrohir shook his head. "No…Elladan, _no…_" he whispered, and again those eyes sent a sharp warning, this time more urgent as he was dragged away under the din of yells and expectant cries. With as much pain as there was in those eyes the younger twin couldn't pull himself away; they sucked Elrohir in and held him in a death grip.

_Do not cry out, brother, but do not leave me…Saes, do not leave me!_

With tears glistening in his eyes Elrohir nodded ever so slightly, and flinched at his twin's first cry, but his eyes did not leave those of Elladan's the entire time. Each blow fell twice for the pair. Each strike sent pain streaking through one's body and pain crushing the other's heart. They shared the pain. This was how it had been for the inseparable pair; never had one abandoned the other. To an outsider it would seem somewhat childish to be glued at the hip to another, like a toddler to a favorite blanket or toy. This, however, was not the case. The twins shared a unique bond, a bond strengthened only through their love and what they had been through together. They did not choose each other's company willingly. Oddly enough, it came naturally – like a daisy that turns its petals to the sun every morning, there was no hesitation or thought behind the twins' closeness. It simply existed.

It was this bond that Elladan clung to as he lay sprawled in the clearing, at the mercy of the Orcs around him. His eyes remained locked with his brother's and his brother's with his. Elrohir helped his twin delve deep into their memories; memories that would help block the pain. Several moans could not be avoided as several bones cracked under fists and clubs, but they had each other. They found solace where no one else could, their only escape from this living hell…

_Autumn leaves spiraled down from the trees overhead, the warm afternoon sunlight warming his face as he gazed at the sky…_

Salty sweat and saliva dripped down upon the Elf from the Orcs above him…

_A voice cried out his name, beckoning him to play in the piles of leaves that lay strewn about the forest clearing…_

He could see bodies from last night's fight in decomposing piles, strewn here and there…

_But there was Nana, his beloved mother, her golden tresses blowing gently in the wind as she smiled warmly at him, beckoning him once more…_

The Orc captain towered over him, sneering cruelly, before vanishing behind his minions as they reached with gnarled fingers to rip his body…

_Elrohir came running towards him, very young but very beautiful already, giggling as the piles of leaves came up to his thighs and stomach and half-buried him in their autumn golds and crimsons. His eyes were bright, shining silver, alive and genuinely happy in his small, toddler face…_

His own brother's eyes were the same as they had always been, but now had taken on a muted, saddened tone in his surprisingly-ashen face…

_He reached out, and their small, baby hands touched and grasped easily. Elrohir led him, still laughing and making sure Nana was still watching them, and pulled him into the gigantic leaf pile…_

He reached out anxiously, weakly, towards his twin, trembling hand extended. Elrohir did the same, even though they were over ten feet apart…

_Nana suddenly surprised them and jumped into their pile, her silvery laughter echoed in their squeals of protest as she scooped them both into her cool, porcelain arms…_

The Son of Elrond and Celebrían gave a moan of agony as something cracked…

_'I love you, my darlings…' she whispered in their hair and planted kisses on their cheeks. 'You are my light and hope, my little boys…'_

_'We love you as well, Nana,' they promised in return, and her eyes glimmered warmly._

_'I know, my little stars,' she murmured lovingly. 'I know…'_

Her face began to fade from the twins' memory, and they reached anxiously out for their mother, their dearest mother whom they had lost all too quickly, and it was then that everything went so terribly wrong.

Elladan's head was yanked up by his fine, raven hair, and the contact was broken between the twins. He cried out, feeling his scalp and the tendons in his neck tighten painfully and the pain come rushing to the surface. The string of memories had broken and vanished, and the poor Elf found himself, once more, in the dreaded clearing at the mercy of dozens of _yrch._

An Orc produced a rusted knife, and they pulled Elladan up to his knees. Elrohir's lips parted to speak, but the words would not come. He watched horrorstruck, the sudden loss of connection leaving him feeling severed and raw. _No, _he mouthed, _no, no; no, NO, NOOO!_

Without knowing it he began to scream as the blade was brought to his brother's throat. His gray eyes blinked once, clearing tears from his vision as he silently begged his brother to fight. He pulled at the chains desperately, trying to break free. _They cannot kill him! We are supposed to be kept alive, used perhaps as bait against our fathers, used as bargaining tools to control the realms… _

And then Elrohir realized: _there are two of us. They only need one son of Elrond with which to bargain. _

Seizing tufts of grass and debris and pushing with his good leg he tried to crawl further towards his brother, trying to reach what he knew he could not grasp. His shattered leg, however, gave an extremely painful zing, and he collapsed onto his stomach with an anguished gasp, clutching at his knee. He had made it no farther than three inches, and feeling hope and blood drain from his face as he stared at his brother in horror, the scene of certain execution slowly unfolding before him.

Nothing was happening, save the clattering of the chains and the slow ascent of the knife to its target. Their gazes were fixated upon each other once again, one desperate for freedom and the other desperate for the other half of his heart and soul. This could not be happening. They did not leave each other like this. The roiling emotions in the clearing had transferred so quickly from hatred to execution that the twins were still recovering and, for the first time, had begun to panic.

Unspoken conversation ensued in the following seconds, seconds that were far too short for each other's company but far too long in the time that passed.

_I will not let you die like this! _Elrohir screamed.

_Elrohir, please…_

_NO! Shut up! Do not speak like that!_

_Elrohir…_

_You swore to me! You swore, years ago, that you would never leave me! We are in this together, like you said!_

Gray eyes softened with tears. _…I know…_

_We made blood oaths swearing we would never leave each others' side. Does that mean nothing to you? Why do you not fight against them? _Identical eyes grew hard and cold. _Do not give up on me. I will not let you, damn it! _Elrohir furiously began to yank at the chains, but his vision clouded with tears and he gave a heartbroken cry in frustration.

_Please._

Tearful eyes looked up helplessly. _No…_

_I do not want to die here, with all my heart I do not want to._

_Then fight!_

_For what purpose? I cannot escape this. If all four of us were overpowered I stand no chance alone. _

_You fool! Why do you have no heart for others? Killing you would…_ Elrohir stopped, frozen in time, staring at his brother with a sudden look of terror.

A silent tear slipped down Elladan's bruised and bloodied cheek. _…kill you as well._

…_You cannot do this…_

_I am not "doing this", as you would say! I am not asking for this knife to be brought to my throat! I AM NOT ASKING FOR DEATH!_

_Then FIGHT!_

_How?! How do I fight against them? With what weapon, with what strength, with what heart, Elrohir?! Can you not understand me? _Silver eyes had turned stony and angry in their grief. _I would only be a burden to you severely hurt-_

_But you would be alive! YOU WOULD BE ALIVE!_

_Not for long._

_YOU COWARD! YOU FILTHY, HALF-ELF COWARD! You would be leaving Legolas to a certain death! He __**will**__ die if you leave us. Do you hear me? Legolas will die! __**I **__will die!_

Silver eyes flashed hotly. _What can you do to save me, brother? You are chained to a tree and unable to even crawl, and I am at the mercy of the yrch. I can no more fight against them and win than sprout wings and fly away._

_But at least you would die an honorable death! What sort of soldier would forsake his pride for a clean death-_

_A smart one,_ came the dark retort. _You would not be proud of me, of everything I have ever done, if I was executed without a fight? You do not think Adar would-_

_Do not drag him into this!_

_**You**__ are being the coward, not I. You are simply afraid of being left alone…_

Elrohir's heart stopped, and his eyes widened.

_Do you think I want to die? Do you think I want to leave you? _Hot tears now sparkled in his twin's smoldering eyes. _I would never choose to part from you, my dear brother…Do you not know that? _

…_Then do not leave me……_Agony coursed through Elrohir's veins. _I am terrified of losing you, of being forced to live without what I need and cherish the most…I watched you, unconscious, dangle from the hands of the Orcs once. I cannot watch that again…Not again, not here, not ever……You can save yourself, I know you can……I cannot watch you die like this, alone!…_His shoulders began to shake slightly as tears threatened to take hold, and he blinked them away fiercely. _You are strong! You have always been the stronger of us!_

Elladan shook his head slowly; by now, his eyes had softened slightly, and took on a remorseful sheen. _No…I was strong because you were behind me, my dear brother. You can help me by not by prolonging what is inevitable…You know we will die here, do you not? There is only one escape from this Valar-forsaken clearing, _he finished bitterly, _and that is death._

Their gaze broke when Elrohir looked away, and it felt like the lifeline that had kept one of them from plummeting to their death had snapped. Their intimate connection vanished, and but Elladan reached out anxiously. _Elrohir, please!_

"No." The word was spoken aloud and forcefully. Elrohir looked at his brother, his mind made up. He shook his head again. "No, damn it! I will not let you die!" His voice rose to a shout as his attention turned to the captain who held the knife. Elrohir's eyes blazed dangerously in a way that Elladan had never seen. "Take me in his stead! If you kill him,_ I swear on every lord and lady of Middle-earth and the very gods themselves that every single blood-thirsting beast that walks this earth under the rule of Sauron will die by my hand alone! __**I **__**will**__** avenge my brother!**_"

His oath thundered through the clearing. It was quickly met by dumbfounded silence, in which even the hoarse breathing of Legolas seemed to be still for a very long moment.

Elrohir looked back to his brother, in whose eyes silver tears could easily be seen, ready to fall. Tales of Elves who had sworn their souls away and destroyed and scattered everything that had been dear to their hearts had been told to them as children, and this was following an all-too familiar path. "You have doomed us all," Elladan whispered as the knife vanished from in front of him. A shadow passed in front of his face as the Orc captain moved to stare in smug surprise at the defiant twin.

"What did you say?" the captain barked, eyes gleaming.

Legolas stirred and began to hoarsely whisper. "_Rhaich, Elrohir! Daro i…"_

"_No dhínen!"_ Elrohir hissed angrily, silencing the wounded Elf behind him with a firm tone. Legolas simply closed his eyes, too weak to say more, his hands weakly tightening upon the girl behind him, bracing himself for what only he and Elladan knew would follow.

"If you kill my brother, I swear to you that I will have my revenge," the twin snarled. His eyes flickered threateningly like lightning before a tempest unleashes. His hands were clenched, and his face was as cold and hard as stone.

The captain was caught off-guard by the Elf's ferocity, and the oath struck a note of warning in his black heart. The gleaming yellow eyes stared at the Elf, and without looking away threw Elladan face-down onto the muddy earth. Elrohir straightened and fixed his piercing stare on every single Orc in the clearing as his twin pulled himself to his side, but the captain was not finished.

"Seize the brothers and have your share with them, but do not kill them," the captain ordered in a dark undertone. His eyes flashed evilly. "Give them identical familiarity with hell."

The Elves' hearts stopped. Elrohir felt his twin silently bow his head next to him, and all he could do was mutely reach over and take his hand. Emotions spilled through their connection like water through a broken dam. Elrohir could feel his brother's horrified reaction to torture in the faint tremble of his hand.

Of the two Elladan had been most affected by their mother's torture. Nightmares plagued him, even now. When his breathing began to slightly panic, his twin squeezed his hand reassuringly, but Elladan only gave a hiss of anger in return.

_Of what were you thinking that made you choose such a foolish path? _The Elder twin's eyes flashed, but his brother could still see the terror that lurked in their depths.

Elrohir looked at his beloved friend and sibling, a sad smile on his lips. "I thought of you, my dearest brother. If die we must, we die together. You have my word."

Elladan's eyes widened slightly and just as quickly took on a look of shame and regret.

_Forgive me…_

But Elrohir shook his head and leaned forward so that their foreheads met, and together they made a silent vow of unending brotherly love and devotion.

_It may be I that needs forgiving after this, _Elrohir murmured so only Elladan could hear.

_Nay, brother, I could never be more grateful._

They held each other's hand as though it was a lifeline, as if it was their only attachment to this world and to each other. They shared one last moment of peace and comfort together as the _yrch_ scrambled towards them, screaming with delight, and then they knew nothing but blinding pain.

* * *

_To be continued..._

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	5. V: Hope

**Hunted**

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_Yes, I'm back already! I was feeling bad for posting so late, and because I'm not sure when I'll be able to post again I thought I'd go ahead and give everyone a little treat! This chapter also requires an author's note, of which I will quickly explain._

_Tolkien's opinion of our dear Aragorn learning of his destiny is that the man was delighted and anxious to hold up his father's and fore-fathers' work. "...The next day at the hour of sunset Aragorn walked alone in the woods, and his heart was high within him; and he sang, for he was full of hope and the world was fair." This is an excerpt from the Tale of Aragorn and Arwen from Appendix A, detailing what happened the day **after** he was informed of his destiny. I, however, don't agree with Tolkien's reasoning. Yes, yes, I know, that is a sacrilegious act and is punishable by death...;) But honestly, having my real life tossed away at a moment's notice and being informed that I am being hunted by every single enemy in Arda and that everyone I love I cannot have because I will put them in danger and that my family is not my family at all and I have to go be a king in this kingdom I've never been to and never want to go to does not sound very fun at all. So I have taken the liberties and adapted the idea, because I'm so terribly selfish like that. _

_Once again, Tolkien's works are not mine, I simply use them for my own personal entertainment and some people feel like joining in for a spot o' fun for free. No monetary benefits are earned. Please read and review!_

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**_Chapter Five_

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_The night before..._

He made no noise as he passed among the dark boughs. If he did, death would come swiftly. Or it could wait, drawing pain from every fiber of his being, destroying him slowly.

Either way Estel could not afford to make a single misstep. Every movement was coordinated and planned, conducted slowly and with every caution possible. It was long, tiring, backbreaking work, but there was no margin for error.

He had traveled a grand total of ten yards from the campsite. It was a poor, lowly number, but he was glad that he had made it thus far undetected. The trees were unsettled, their leaves rustling loudly. The storm was still passing overhead, and he could hear distant quiet rumbles of thunder. _What I would give for the cover of thunder and great winds,_ he thought ruefully. Perhaps it was for the best, though, because with high winds he could easily find himself in a bad spot in a weak tree, he could be exposed in the movement of the branches, or, if it was wet, he could lose his footing. There was always the possibility of being struck by lightning, but he figured that the Dark Lord had a better chance of dropping dead than he had of being struck by nature's fury in one tree of millions in Mirkwood. He also might have had a better of transfiguring into a light-footed, silent Elf, and this was the very thing he needed at this moment; guaranteed silence, as well as the absence of Orcs. _But then I would not be in this sticky situation to begin with…_

He had been raised by those who knew the forest well, and had luckily been able to learn from birth what others of his kind could never know or attempt to know in their most distant daydreams. Estel learned how to calm anyone and anything with simple words or a single touch; how to tread nearly silently – as only the Elves were blessed with complete lightness of foot; track just as swiftly as his Elven brothers. He learned how to distinguish edible foods from poisonous ones in the wild; to set traps and recognize and note the locations of tracks; to whistle or call birds to his stilled hands; to climb a tree with barely a whisper of stirring and use its branches as extensions of his own body; most of all, he learned to trust the wild, to trust his instincts, and to trust himself. And although his teachings were hurried and shortened greatly due to his quickly maturing body he was an Elf child in every right, even if not all the Elders agreed.

But in his mind he was but an intruder.

The forest never spoke to him as it did to the others. He had tried as a child, tried so hard to listen and hear and understand what his brothers sang of so sweetly, of what his friends spoke so commonly as if it happened every moment of every day of every month of every year, and had proceeded so since the beginning of time. He had thought something was wrong with him, then. He knew he was different, but not _this_ different. He felt deaf and mute, unable to communicate with the looming, beautiful, silver woods for which he held so much love. They had sheltered him, protected him when the Elflings of Rivendell had ridiculed and mocked him for being who he was, and, most recently, where he had met _her._

Her eyes had glittered with sapphire he had never seen, sapphire that sometimes twinkled with the beautiful sparks of turquoise of her mother. He had sung of an ancient beauty, a tragedy wrought with love and angst, when he had found her, and he thought that she was the woman of his song. She had laughed, and his heart had wept for the pain it caused him; the tinkling of bells in her laughter had been so simply wonderful. Her raven hair, so like her father and brothers, had rustled in the wind, a sight so simple but so full of…of…of what?

_Of everything,_ he had sighed. He had seen many _elleths_ in his wanderings about the city and he had never seen her. She had been with her mother's parents, hundreds of miles away from him and away from his life. The last time she had returned to her birthplace he hadn't even been an unborn angel, he hadn't been a hope in his mother's mind, his dear mortal mother hadn't even crossed his father's line of vision, and his father may have only been as old as he was now. He was twenty years of age now; his begetting day had been but five months ago. And she, she was nearly as old as this age…

But she had treated him like no other ever had.

She had not cared that if an Elf had seen as many summers as he had that Elf would act like half a decade old in mortal years. She had not cared that he wore Elven-tailored clothing, the tunic alone worth more than him and his past dozen ancestors put together. She had not even cared about his destiny, the destiny her father had shared when she arrived on her dapple-grey horse with a gleaming escort. But above all, she did not care that he was mortal.

He thought his ears would bleed from the sound of the honeyed, sweet voice that had talked to him so gently, so warmly, so openly, so willing to listen and so willing to be a _friend._ And yet he dared to hope for so much more.

She never left his thoughts. Her porcelain touch, cool as the night air but glowing as the morning sun, would meet his calloused hand and sunburned lips in his memory when he, bowing deeply, had kissed her hand so briefly – so briefly that he wondered if it had truly happened – at his departure. Her eyes had delved deep into his own eyes as he had straightened - a look he would never forget. He had learned how to keep his expression impassive, his eyes unreadable, and his body language steady and calm, but before her his defenses, defenses that came so naturally, so easily, so unconsciously, began to crumble, and he let them crumble. He let them fall; let his heart and soul laid bare before her, because they were hers from the moment he met her.

Her eyes widened ever so slightly at a sudden knowledge and understanding, and he saw a flicker of emotion shadow her face. Afraid of the denial and reprimand he knew would come, he bowed his head and stepped back slowly, his heart crushed already. He could feel its pieces yanked away like shards of glass as he broke their touch, leaving a gaping black hole in his chest that would slowly consume him.

"_Namárië,_ _sweet_ _Undómiel."_

He swore he would cut out his tongue if her glorious name could never grace his mouth again, but once more could be enough for a thousand lifetimes.

_Goodbye, Arwen._

And he left her in the dim light of the courtyard, and he knew that they could never see each other again.

Elrond had told him that he was not allowed to court any maiden until he had earned the right of a woman's hand. What he was trying to say, the man realized, was that Estel would have to do the unthinkable, win against every odd, accomplish what was impossible and then shed his mortality and step out of his filthy skin to reveal a polished, fair Elf who had accomplished everything and anything at the father's whim just so he could win the hand of the daughter. It did not matter if her heart ever turned toward him; Elrond's heart never would be, and that was that.

Deep within him the Man knew that this was not true, that he spoke of another sort of accomplishment, a task that would and could not be completed for many decades. But it was far easier to dream of completing a quest worthy of Beren than it was to recognize to what he was condemned.

He had never wanted this. His dear mother, a mother still beautifully young for she too possessed a little of the long-living grace, had told him stories of kings, of mighty quests and dragons and swords of steel and everything imaginable that should delight a young boy's mind. But he had shook his head, and asked about the family, the friends, the wife and daughters and little sons who were left behind; were they all right? Did they miss him? Who would read them bed time stories? Who would take them on sunset walks? Who would fix their toys? Did the father ever have time to write, or even visit?

'I would never want that life,' he would admit honestly, his tiny toddler fingers clutching at his mother's dress. 'Then I would never see 'Dan and 'Ro and _Adar_ or my teachers or even you again. I could die,' he'd say as his eyes widened, 'and then I would make you cry. Right, _Nana?"_

She would only look at him and smile sadly. As she kissed his cheek and saw the bright silver eyes blink up at her she did not see her little Estel, but saw another, older Man with those same eyes.

Gilraen remembered the day _he_ had left her, pulling her close and kissing her neck so softly that shivers ran up her spine. He had moved to wrap her in his strong arms, kissing her sweet lips now, and when he pulled back she had gazed so lovingly and full of awe into eyes the color of the sword that hung strapped at his waist.

Their son had the same eyes, the same beautiful, shining silver.

_He was at the tender age of taking to running around the small home at full speed, only to plow into one of the aging hunting hounds. Then he would fall down hard on his bottom, wailing at the sudden surprise and shock of running into something and falling backward. Gilraen or Arathorn would come rushing in, scooping their precious child up into a warm hug. A lullaby and a soft back-rub would soothe his pain and the toddler would resume his play, banging kitchen utensils together or dumping the toys out of his toy chest to use as a fort to hide in with his kitten._

_Behind her the baby stirred in his cradle, crying plaintively for attention. He had seen his father cross the room and enfold his mother so sweetly and he wanted attention as well._

_Arathorn smiled knowingly as they turned to the little Aragorn behind them. The toddler's hands waved in the air, extended towards his parents anxiously. He whined quietly, bouncing on his heels as if he was worried that they would forget him. Gilraen watched with a sweet smile spreading across her lips as her husband seized the child underneath the arms, tossed him into the air, and whirled him around. Aragorn squealed as the room spun dizzily around him, and Arathorn promptly resumed the rightful position of a safe embrace, watching him quietly. His wife moved to stand closer, laying her head against his tall shoulder. She could feel the warmth of his body, smell his sweat and the intoxicating natural scents of his body. She closed her eyes, peaceful in that moment, so grateful for the little family she had._

"_He is so perfect, is he not?" Arathorn whispered, and Gilraen opened her eyes to find her little son drifting to sleep on her husband's shoulder. The boy's eyes blinked sleepily and he stifled a yawn. His long dark hair was messed, ruffled but still clinging in perfect baby curls. Arathorn stooped to lower the child into his crib, pulling the blankets up protectively and tucking him in easily._

"_Arathorn," Gilraen began quietly, unsure of how to say what she wanted to say. He turned to her, the look on his noble face serene and pleasant. He caressed her cheek, encouraging her to finish her thought. "There…there could be more, if you wanted. Another…child. A brother or sister for Aragorn…or both…"_

_Arathorn placed a finger over his wife's lips, quieting her. He smiled, his eyes glinting. "If you desire another child, then I desire another as well," he finished easily. Gilraen let out a breath she had not realized she had been holding, and laughed as she threw her arms around his neck. "Le melon," she whispered. _

"_And I love you, my darling," he answered, his deep voice resonating against her collar bone. _

_At the sound of horse hooves in front of their home he brushed her nose with his playfully and kissed it. "I will return to you and the baby soon," he murmured, squeezing her hands._

_Gilraen, her eyes wide, had let him move away slowly. "Be careful," she warned softly, a warning stirring in her heart. _

"_We are only hunting a little, my flower," Arathorn smiled. "But I promise to return to you in one piece." Then he kissed her hand and gave it a soft squeeze. "Hebo estel," he reassured her quietly. She nodded. Have hope._

_The Sons of Elrond had swept into her front room, bowing deeply and presenting her with small trinkets of the Elves and inquiring about the baby, and then they gave their formal and cordial farewells and were gone from her sight all too quickly._

Five days later she was summoned to Rivendell. She arrived with her little Aragorn, fast asleep, in her arms to find her husband in one of the guest bedrooms. Arathorn had been true to his word; his body had returned to her in one piece. She had not wept upon seeing the arrow in his eye and the blood caked on his face, unable to summon tears during the shock, but she had wept when she had found her little son clutching the ring from his father's finger. The devouring serpents and emeralds glimmered beneath the child's drool as he sucked on it, blissfully unaware that he was sitting next to his dead father. The ring and the rest of Arathorn's possessions were locked away immediately and were not brought out again until the boy's twentieth begetting day. Their son's real name was locked away as well, due to the counseling of Elrond but also due to the pain of her heart. She could not bear to call the boy in front of her the very name that her husband had christened him at birth. He was to be called Estel from now on, named for the last words of her late husband, an Elvish name easier to bear. The memories and love were locked away as well, but the lock never held despite the best of chains and fears wrapped around the piece of mind that held them.

Eighteen years later Estel derived this information from Elrond, the man he called his father though he knew it not to be true. So many things he had learned last March. His "destiny" as Elrond called it had been laid before him; the stories of his true, dead father were shared quietly, sadly, by his mother; the genealogy of his ancestors were mapped out on the parchment in front of him; the shards of Narsil were unveiled, as were the Sceptre of Annúminas and Ring of Barahir; the true reason behind living his life in Rivendell was explained; and the truth that he, Aragorn, son of Arathorn – not Estel, brothers of Elladan, Elrohir, and Arwen and son of Elrond – was to be king of Gondor and Arnor, and restore peace, beauty, and hope to the realms. It was then that he had understood another reason why he had been named 'hope', and why his mother strayed to the paintings and depictions of _his_ ancestors, her husband's ancestors, and touched the dark-haired, noble figures with such care and awe.

It was several days later, when he had been summoned back to the chamber of Elrond, that he realized that the great Elf lord sitting before him was so very distantly related to him. He was the brother of Elros, the twin who had fathered the Númenorean line, the very line that Estel and his mother had been born of. Elladan and Elrohir, they were Elros' nephews…

…And _Arwen…_Elros' niece.

He was so very distantly related to the woman he…he…he l-lov…

And that was when Estel was ordered never to pursue her again. They were forbidden from meeting, lest Arwen fall for him and discard her immortality for a man who would not live more than two-hundred years. It was not right, it was not proper. The argument dared to burst past his lips, remembering the tales of Lúthien and Beren – _dear Valar, I am descended from them as well –_ but Elrond cut him off. There was nothing he could do now. _Have you forgotten the order you had been given but the night before?_ Elrond had asked. Nay, he had simply been smitten with the pure, entrancing beauty of none other but Arwen Undómiel.

He was reprimanded and chastised like an Elfling. There could be no pursuit of any task other than that of creating a greater good in this world, nor could there be a pursuit of _any_ woman – _as if I would choose any other after parting with Arwen_, he thought miserably. He had left broken, alone, and weary, his shoulders so heavy with the burdens he now had to bear.

He had climbed the nearest tree and held his head in his hands and wept for hours.

His sweet life, so full of beauty and promise, and been scattered and destroyed. He had destinies to live up to, had argued and brought tension between his foster father and him, had been forced to carry secrets, memoirs, books, genealogies, souvenirs that were worth more than his life, had been informed that a bounty was on his head by the Dark Lord and that every enemy of the Light would seek to find and kill him, and he had…he had…he had _loved_ and lost the most beautiful, untouchable, perfect woman in all of Arda. His real life had been discarded for a new, fake one that could never live up to what he had before.

And it had all happened in two days' time.

I+I+I+I+I+I+I+I

Estel's stomach clenched and hot tears pricked at his eyes at the onset of memories. He found himself clutching at the thick branch of an oak, leaning his head against its rough bark as his mind resurfaced. The pain made his heart beat fast, and hastily he shook his head, trying to clear the tendrils of memories from his vision. He had to keep moving. He _had_ to keep moving, or he would lose himself in the rush of remembrance.

He began to run. The branches flew beneath, above, and around him, the leaves becoming blurs. This was second nature to him, and his lithe, young body was accustomed to this type of exercise from his fifth birthday onwards. It was easy for him to become lost in the trees, the moon flashing sporadically upon his hands as he reached out for the branches. His hands were scarred from battle already, the calluses making his hands tough and thick. Suddenly, in the moonlight, he swore he saw a pale, porcelain hand close over his. It took all of his self control to hold back the cry of anguish and continue on.

Never had he dreamed that he would be plagued with this terrible fate, let alone so early in his life. And now he was faced with the possible deaths of two Elves – _my __**brothers**_, he reminded himself fiercely, refusing to think otherwise – and his greatest friend, of whom he had known since he had been seven or eight years old. He could not fail them. It was simply not an option. He had the weight of Elrond's disappointment and the arguments on his head already. He had no desire to greet his foster father with the cold, stiff bodies of the Elf's two sons and face the blame for their deaths.

It was suddenly that the trees thinned and Estel was hard-put to stop himself from launching out of the tree. The grove of trees that they had camped in was smaller than he had thought. Forty yards of tall grass stood between him and the realm of Mirkwood, and tonight the twisted, black trees looked surprisingly welcoming. He would be grateful to get beneath those boughs and onto the familiar Elf path that would take him to safety.

He would have bolted like a young, terrified colt if it had not been for his better instincts. Estel silently lowered himself onto the lower branches and peered out from the thick clusters of beech leaves at the grassy division. At first glance it appeared deserted and serenely still, but Estel knew better. Sure enough, within moments, he saw the crusted head of an Orc flash in the moonlight, the metal plates on its head reflecting the moonbeams for an instant. _The grassland is a minefield._

Estel settled in to contemplate and plan the best route. He studied the Orcs' paths. Understanding their guard duties would be essential to finding the flaw. He sat for nearly half an hour, watching the Orcs shift about and trade posts. He desperately wanted to sleep but his mind would not let him. He was nervous and on-edge, apprehensive and for the first time in his life _terrified_. If he was caught it would spell doom for the four remaining in the campsite. His brothers would be slain. His closest friend would die of blood loss. And the little girl…he thought of her round, bright eyes, eyes that had been filled with such pain and naked terror…

_**I will not fail.**_

The courage stirred in his heart, and he flexed his hands and stiff muscles slowly, breathing in deeply of the frosty night air. The first frost would arrive soon, and with it a bitter cold that would make even wounded Elves uncomfortable. The girl could freeze to death at her tender age…

"Ologûk."

Estel jumped at the Orcish voice, shying away from the moonlight as far as possible and closer to the base of the fair tree he was hiding in. Two Orcs rustled beneath him, and he could barely make out the features from above. The Orc captain – apparently his name was Ologûk - had just stomped up and was speaking with what appeared to be the head of the guard.

"Are we secure?"

"Yes, Captain," the scrawny guard sniffed. "Tight as a noose, we a'. Any signs of those damn pointy-ears and you'll know within thirty seconds-"

"I expect it in less," Ologûk growled threateningly. The other Orc gulped and shakily nodded.

"Ri-right, sir-"

"Keep the triple perimeter in the grass, every seven feet. No sleepin', no dozin', no nuthin'. Got it?"

"Y-yes, sir-"

"Good." And the captain was gone. Estel heard his thick body crunch through the underbrush. _For wanting so much security he is not very quiet…_He let out a breath of relief. His presence had not been noticed yet; apparently the dark lump of a traveling cloak had fooled them, but he knew that by dawn all hell would be raised.

The guard moved away beneath him and Estel smiled; he knew almost everything he needed to know about the grassland, including the triple perimeter, seven-foot division, and how the Orcs are not _supposed_ to be asleep. But from what he could hear it sounded as if half – if not the majority – had already drifted to sleep. Their snores echoed loudly but were barely audible beneath the din of the distant storm and wind.

The beech tree rustled warmly around him, belonging to a family of trees slightly less blackened than those of Mirkwood, and yet still, as always, it would not speak to him. Estel had no hope left for gaining the Song of Ilúvatar; it was simply something he was doomed to live without. _Ai, if I only could talk to trees, then everyone would know what had transpired here. I wonder if Legolas and the twins have tried warning their fathers yet…but I doubt the voices of the trees could carry across such wide grassland. The trees of Mirkwood are distant, and they may not have enough good enough left in their woody hearts…_

He glanced down, scanning his surroundings expertly and noting where the Orcs were stationed. They were barely visible in the grasses. They probably thought they were being clever by hiding so well, but Estel knew that any Elf would notice the odd clumps of unmoving grass that were shoved out of place immediately.

_Time to leave. _

Estel slid down the tree and dropped into the grass without a sound. He would have to be stealthy and quick – if he lingered too long in one place his body would shield patches of grass from the wind and draw attention to his position. And then his companions would die.

He crept forward on all fours, wishing desperately he had retrieved his wonderful sword and effects first. But he was faster and lighter this way, not weighed down by weapons and quiver. He kept his ears open and his mouth shut, keeping his breathing silent and listening intently for sign's of an enemy's approach. If he was caught and attacked he was doomed; he had no weapon to defend himself with. _That is, of course, unless I cannot find a nice sturdy stick around here…or a dead possum to whack someone with_.

But the Man was lucky. He proceeded unnoticed by all save the crickets, who, frightened, chirped apprehensively and darted away at his approach. Soon enough the trees that once earned the title Greenwood the Great loomed into view and he slipped gratefully into their concealing shadows. Orcs and great spiders haunted these woods, but they occurred far more sporadically than a carefully-stationed Orc troop. Through the parched brambles and thickets he darted carefully, going to great lengths not to snag on anything, and finally came to a halt in front of the great Forest Gate.

The silver bars were slightly tarnished and rusted, evidence of old age and lack of use. _I do wonder why Mirkwood has so few visitors now,_ Estel thought sarcastically, grimacing at the black vines that were coiled tightly about the edges of the gate. He pressed firmly against the thick doors, thinking it would give easily. He could see the path in front of him through the intricately-entwined bars, but he could not get through. It was as if someone had roped it shut and enchanted it with some sort of Elven spell. He groaned suddenly, realizing that Thranduil must have placed an enchantment on the gate like he had done with the palace doors. Either Estel did not know the password or he did not fit the requirements to enter, but either way he was stuck just outside of relative safety.

He rested his head against the cool metal, listening to barely-audible Elvish whispers radiate from the barricade. He began whispering furtively back, reciting words after words after phrases after paragraphs of anything imaginable. Legolas had never told him anything about a password. Whenever they had visited the prince his brothers had simply stepped forth and touched the gates, and they had swung open as if someone behind the doors and seen them coming for miles and was graciously beckoning them in. No person of this sort stood before him, in fact no one at all could be seen for as far as his eye could see. _And with my luck the nearest Wood-Elf is probably in the palace itself, shut away and drinking the finest Dorwinion wine at a feast that will last for weeks…_

For what seemed like the hundredth time he lowered his shoulder and shoved as hard as he could into the doors, and still they did not give. _Your prince and kin are in mortal danger, saes, let me pass! _

And then the gates smoothly swung wide open. He gaped in astonishment, relief flooding through him.

_If an Elven life is indeed at stake, then you may pass,_ the trees suddenly whispered, their quiet golden voices choked by the evil that surrounded them._ We carry word to the Elf-king of the peril that Legolas Thranduilion and the twin sons of Elrond are in to ease your journey. May the Valar be with you, child of the Sun._

Estel's heart skipped a beat as the silver gates swung closed behind him, for he, alone of all Men, had heard the Song of Ilúvatar.

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_To be continued...at a later, questionable date in the future of which I have no clue..._

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	6. VI: Thoughts

**Hunted**

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_Well hey there! I'm back again! Hurrah! Here's the next installment, and just have a mild disclaimer out for the bond between Elladan and Elrohir; the sense of love they have between them is merely that of brothers (although they are extremely close for brothers). I didn't think I would have too much of a problem with you guys (being such wonderful reviewers you are!) but just in case I wanted to make sure that everyone knew that this is not a slash fic. Thanks. :)_

_Thanks to **ArodieltheElfofRohan, Legilmalith, the randomer, StrangerToTheWorld, Gord and V,** and **Girlie G** for reviewing! Your reviews mean SO much to me!!!_

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_**Chapter Six**_

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_My world is nothing but fog, the air so saturated with its warm red vapor that the blood leaves my skin stained. _

_My brother and I share this hell together, we share the pain together, and we share the tears together. But we do not share the cries for mercy. We have vowed to keep our silence. They can rip our bodies and take away all our sense of peace and health and dignity, but they cannot take our pride. _

_We will not be broken. _

_Our hands are entwined, our foreheads pressed together. Fear yanks at our bond, and I can feel my little brother try to be strong for me, but we both understand that there is little we can do to escape this. _

_I am grateful for what he did for me. If he had not threatened the Orc captain my blood would have ceased to pump through my veins nearly three hours ago. Yes I, too, find it hard to believe that we are still conscious after three hours of enduring this madness. It would have been impossible without my heart. _

_We bear identical wounds to match our identical bodies. Our souls are not identical, but they match closely, now that we are scarred with these wounds. _

_My brother answered my first cry when we were born, and so he has done so again today. They began with me, the burly Orc's heavy club swinging at my leg. I gave a shout at the ringing in my ears, the pain rocketing through my knee as the bones shattered, and my dear twin gripped my forearms and cried too at the pain I was unconsciously sharing through our bond. He was not receiving the physical pain like I was, but through our connection he understood and felt every single emotion filling up my mind. He cried for the agony that weakens me, unable to suppress the surge of love and devotion for me and yet so utterly unable to defend me. I suffered him likewise. _

_Torturing us in such a way has been keeping us in our most vulnerable state. We have opened up to each other before, letting memories and thoughts slip away easily, unconsciously, and letting our bond draw us closer, but not in this way. Our bond was pried open and unchecked; it was as if the Orcs knew this would happen if we are both confronted with equal amounts of pain. But I think the Captain is intelligent enough to know that our greatest weaknesses are each other, and he can use that against us. That is all he knows. No one can understand the bond we have. _

_We are desperately trying to comfort each other, but the agony we are both in is making it so very difficult to block out our individual pain, let alone the other's. We are working to control things, to hold back emotions, but I think we have both realized that our pain cannot be checked as easily. During battles we are acutely aware of each other, so very aware of the slightest nicks and aches. We both benefit from it; understanding when one needs aide and when one is ready to move on. But now…now it is a flood of emotions, unchecked, unchallenged, roiling and bubbling from our cores. The onslaught is crushing, and we have barely been able to keep our heads above the surface. We have been fighting two battles; one from the outside, and one from within. _

_But his simple presence is soothing. I love my brother like no other. We have had each other through every battle, every tear, every devastation, every happiness…Life would not exist without him. His fingers upon mine keep my lungs breathing, my heart beating, my blood pumping…Every wound overtaken has made me weaker, and yet it has made me stronger. I grow closer and closer to him until we are simply one; one panting, throbbing, aching soul where nothing is kept secret. _

_Because our pain is shared it is now bearable. Because our breaths are drawn together we can still thrive. Because our hearts beat as one we can survive a day longer. Because our courage is still strong we can win any battle. And because our love remains for the other we can eventually find peace, whether it is here or in Mandos. _

_But anywhere I go I will always have my life, my soul, my heart, my mind, my friend, my sweet, dear brother. I will always have my Elrohir. _

I+I+I+I+I+I+I+I

_Her eyes are just as wide as ever as they stare up at me blankly, searching for answers I do not have. She flinches at every cry the twins utter. They have bound them together, hanging them by a lower branch so they will not collapse unless cut down. Their backs, now bloody and cut deeply, face outward. I can see their heads pressed together, I can see them whispering comfort, I can see them weakly gripping each other's hands high above themselves. They are very strong. Both have remained conscious for the several hours that have transpired already. _

_Mid-morning has brought no comfort for me or them. The sharp pain has barely abated in my side, and the jagged wounds do not seem to be healing well. I fear something has gone wrong with my healing process, for I should have stopped bleeding hours ago. I have seen seven cases of injuries that do not mend on my kin, all because of poison. _

_I was a healing apprentice before I became a warrior, before I vowed vengeance for what had happened to my family over the past years. My father was nearly killed when I was young, my mother when I was but several months old. My grandfather I never knew, my grandmother probably sailed years ago. As for my father's siblings, one or two were killed in the sack of Doriath, the others survived but are either in Mandos, Valinor, or some distant realm and have not come in contact with my father for centuries. _

_The enemy caused my family's disarrangement. It spelled death for my mother, grandfather, uncles, countless friends and kin. They poisoned and wounded Elladan and Elrohir's mother, and ultimately caused her sailing. Though they could be reunited with her in the years to come it still struck them hard and they took arms against the enemy that is ever encroaching upon their borders. And so I have joined the ranks of the front line. _

_But when I am not on patrol I am a healer. I work alongside our greatest healer to strengthen and save our warriors as well as our kingdom. Trees can be healed as well, though song is their only hope. Every day it becomes harder to combat the enemy's new attacks, new methods to bring us to our knees. They have already won the forest and turned it black. I can only rekindle a flicker of their true beauty now in the trees closest to our homes. _

_Few of us choose to live beneath the trees now. I can remember when my own father detested living in the palace, insisting that he spend time among that of his kingdom at least half the nights of every week. Now it has grown dangerous. Those who live more than a league south were moved as a precaution, and the three or four families with a child in the household were strongly encouraged to choose a room in the palace. The caverns were furnished and constructed for living for sieges and war, but now it seems that so many of us live there for constant protection every day. It greatly saddens me to see so many of our talans and carefully constructed houses among the trees bleak, empty, devoid of our presence and love. _

_But we are strong. We understand that there is so much more to life than material possessions. We value our families and friends above all else. My father may be an exception, treasuring his precious metals and jewels deep in his safes, but they belonged to his father and his forefathers. I think in his grief of losing his family he has latched on to all he has left of them, because I am not even sure he has likenesses of them to hang upon his walls. In addition, that gold can be used to trade for weapons, defense, and food, making it highly valuable if things progress any further in the battle against the Dark Tower. We both understand that this fight is far from over. _

_The enemy always has a new trick up their sleeve. New attack methods, deeper penetration, renewed darkness by the presence of the Wraiths, stronger breeding, new monsters, and even new poisons have slowly leaked onto the battlefield, the latter of which I am surprisingly most concerned about at the moment. _

_I fear I have been poisoned, but I dare not concern the twins with this information. _

_Over the past several centuries three new toxins used in combat by the yrch have come to light. Our healers are doing their best to combat the growing number of casualties caused by these poisons, but it has not been easy. _

_I have personally witnessed all of them, and it pains and enrages me to admit that I have seen four of my kin die because of them. _

_One that does not make the receiver ill is usually used in the poison darts and arrows. The twins and Estel have already been victim of this. The side effects are little to none, thankfully, usually just a light rash around the point of impact. _

_The second toxin that we have found on victims in the halls of my home is a heavier, more dangerous poison. It usually coats blades and throwing weapons, more than likely because they can get a higher amount of the product than the sleeping draught. Vomiting, drowsiness, extreme amounts of pain and a fever accompany the toxin. It also keeps the blood from coagulating, making it easy to bleed to death if the victim is not careful. If untreated for longer than a week it can more than likely kill the strongest of Elves. We discovered this terrible piece of information when a friend of mine, Idhrenion, returned from a patrol and had been infected for over six days. He died before we could attempt to discover an antidote. _

_The deadliest poison known is what we called Guruthos. It is indeed the Shadow of Death. We have barely developed an antidote, and it will soon become standard for anyone venturing within range of an Orc attack. My pack already contains a bottle of the green-tinted antidote, but it could have been thrown in the river for all I know. _

_This is the poison I fear the most. _

_The victim will feel normal as the poison slowly destroys them. The infected wound will not heal, however, and within twelve hours a high fever will set in. Convulsions come next; uncontrollable seizures that last only several seconds but occur more and more often over the course of six to seven hours. Vomiting will happen sporadically, along with bouts of the chills. Guruthos and the second poison I mentioned are nearly identical, save for the final symptom. The pain is by far the worst and most horrible indicator. It is a searing, white hot pain that does not abate under any circumstances, even with the best of healing ointments and medications. It signals the end, a breathless death that occurs only minutes after the final shrieking agony. _

_It has been ten hours since I was wounded, and my wounds are not healing like they do usually. By now they would have stopped bleeding, but that precious red liquid I have lost so much of still oozes steadily from my side. Elladan's stitching has helped me slightly, but he only achieved stitching half of the wound closed before Olog discovered us. _

_I dare not think of what will happen to me if I have been poisoned with Guruthos. Only three in as many yen have died from this poison in my realm, but my heart warns me I may not be so lucky so long as I remain here… _

_Alassiel has begun to cry in my arms. I have managed to pull myself upright and sit against the tree with only minor extra pains and hold her quietly, keeping the traveler's cloak draped over her body to hide her as best as possible. We need to keep her as little noticed as possible for as long as possible, or she will assuredly never leave this place alive. _

_My shirt is damp from her tears. I think she has grown close to the twins in the seven hours she has known them. Their cries and sobs seem to be louder than the Orcs' shrieks of delight, and my heart screams with every moan. But showing any emotion will only worry Alassiel. Right now she needs someone to be strong, someone who can protect her, care for her… _

_My tired eyes flit across the swinging, twitching bodies of my friends, taking in their battered appearance. They will be worse for wear when they are eventually cut down, but I know they are strong. Elladan blinks tears from his eyes and I can see the fierce courage gleaming in those silver depths even from several feet away. He whispers something to Elrohir, who nods swiftly, breathing deeply. They both let out moans after the whips crack across their backs, and a new, angry welt appears in a diagonal slash on the closest twin's back. The nearest Orc leans over, grinning hungrily, and laps up the blood dripping down Elrohir's back with its rough tongue. I flinch and turn away. _

_I am lucky. I have been spared torture for a great amount of time. I do not think they mean to kill us here; I think we are simply to be used as bargaining tools and will be disregarded if a deal is not met. I know what my father will do; he will sacrifice everything for me. I pray to the Valar he will not do that. I am not worth his kingdom, his people, or his life, no matter what he thinks. I am only another Elf in his realm, no matter what my title. _

_But I am frightened of my own mind. When Olog attempted to kill me I was almost grateful. The pain in my side has been unbearable, making me almost certain that I have been poisoned; the toxins normally have an acidic base that is not enough to burn the healers but if not cleaned properly the wounds tend to fester and burn. When Elladan saved my life I felt disappointment rush through me, surprising me. It was an unconscious emotion, but it was enough to frighten me. I never thought I would be so desperate for relief. _

_My head snapped around at Elladan's scream. One of the Orcs had leapt into the branch and was cackling as he hung like a monkey, leaning down and brandishing a small hammer. It was systematically breaking the bones in Elladan's wrist, and my friend was weeping in pain. I shuddered at the silver tears that slipped down his scraped face, seeing the naked pain in his eyes. Elrohir was whispering franticly, seizing the other wrist as best as possible with his bound hands. _

Stay strong! _I shouted to them through our thoughts. _I will not abandon you! You have lasted thus far, stay strong, my brothers!

_I could see their heads lift a little, a spark ignite in their eyes, but the Orc had now turned to Elrohir and it was his screaming agony that Elladan now had to console. _

_Perhaps they are the ones who ought to be so desperate for relief, not I. _

I+I+I+I+I+I+I+I

_I want Nana and Ada. _

_If they were here this wouldn't have happened. I wouldn't be hurt. We could have a picnic, we could go play in the river, we could be anywhere else but here… _

_Nana would hold me and rock me to sleep like she always does. I can almost hear her whispers, singing softly that lullaby to me. Ada's shadow would pass over me when he leans down to kiss my cheek and tell me to go to sleep, and I remember his eyes – clear as crystal – smile at me. Nana would take his arm as they leave my room, letting the door latch quietly behind them. Then I hear their voices from their bedroom next to mine, talking softly, and slowly, ever so slowly, the sounds of the forest and my house begin to fade, and then I dream. _

_But I am not home. I am stuck here, in this wretched place, away from my family and everything I know so well… _

_I want to crawl up in a ball and cry, but Legolas will not let me. He whispers encouraging things to me, but how can I be strong when I hurt so much and my heart aches so badly? And how can he expect me to be strong when he cannot even move without pain? He will not admit it, but I can see the flash in his eyes, the grimace flicker across his face. _

_His blood is warm against my cold skin. It is so very red, a deep, luscious crimson that I have never seen before in my life…What he needs is a good, hot bath and a yummy bowl of warm soup. My nana makes the best. I know he would feel better then. And maybe I could give him Rosta, the stuffed teddy bear he gave me when I was little. He told me about how it made his father feel better long ago when he was hurt, but I only laughed at him. Kings do not get hurt, ever! He should know better than I do that kings are always protected and always noble and always strong and never, ever get hurt. They are too courageous and brave to be injured. _

_Princes are not supposed to get hurt either, but if they do it should never really be that bad of a wound. I expect Legolas to get better fairly soon; several minutes ago he told me he was feeling better and was not ill at all. But his eyes shone oddly, and I do not know what to make of it. He smiled like it hurt his face to do so, too… _

_Ada__ tells me I am very intuitive. I am not sure I even know how to spell that word…But he says it has something do to with understanding other peoples' feelings. If I saw a little Elfling's candy get knocked from his hands and into the dirt all I have to do is look into his eyes and I know immediately what he is feeling. The boy would be devastated, about to cry, probably, and wishing so much that his older brother had not been so careless as to bump his outstretched hands. Ada surprised me by saying that not very many people are so empathetic. (**That** means that you can identify with or understand what somebody else is going through.) _

_I am very hungry, but Legolas says we cannot eat right now. I wonder if that's just an adult way of saying 'we do not have any food'…I have not eaten since last night. Daerada Arthion and Uncle Hérion found a deer for us to eat. We were going to visit Rivendell, just Ada's father and brother and I. They promised to show me all the amazing architecture and beautiful waterfalls and even meet Lord Elrond! _

_I watched them die. They were cut down by the Orcs before I was taken. I can still remember my daerada's pleas. He tried to save me, and they shot him with an arrow for doing so. Hérion was the first in their path and he died in grand-ada's arms. I never got to say goodbye. _

_The twins are quiet now, sleeping. I cannot tell them apart at all, even now when I can just sit and watch them. They are still so fair when they are bloodied and bruised. I feel bad for them. They have several broken bones, even a broken wrist like I have. Legolas fashioned a nice little sling for my arm, but I think Daernesta can make prettier ones at home. _

_We have very little material left with which to wrap Elladan and Elrohir's worst of wounds. Legolas says they will awake in a few hours, but until then I should not touch them or try to move them because I could accidentally hurt them more. _

_I did not get to watch them get cut down from the tree, because Legolas pressed me behind him so hard and quickly that he accidentally pressed my bad arm. I whimpered and he only shushed me, and I was afraid that I had done something wrong. He has always been so sweet to me, always giving me hugs and carrying me on his shoulders. _

_I was so worried that big nasty Orc was going to hurt him with its knife. Whichever of the twins leapt in front of him was very brave. I could never do that for my friend. I'm not sure that I would be so willing to give up my life…and I could get hurt so badly… _

_I heard the yrch saying they are going to move us and put us in better sight. I think they are mad that Estel got away and need to keep a better eye on us. Legolas promises he will not leave me, and I start to cry because I am worried that something is going to happen now. The last time he talked to me like that the twins were dragged away and hurt. I worry he will be next. _

_He pulls me tight and rocks me gently. He smells different than Nana, but he hugs just as well. He is not crying like I am, but is simply holding me close and singing. He does not seem to be bothered by the fact that the Orcs have been casting odd, hungry looks in his direction. The captain said something about playing with someone else soon. I do not think he is talking about hide-and-seek. _

_I wish I was as brave as he is. _

_

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**To be continued...**

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	7. VII: Revelation

**Hunted**

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_Well, look what I found after thorough editing...another chapter! Hurray!!!! _

_A special thanks goes out to **the randomer, Viresse, Alanic, hardcoreninja **(I love the penname!), **StrangerToTheWorld, **and **FaithfulPureLight** (just kidding - I'm updating much, much sooner than I thought I would!) for reviewing. Thanks again! _

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**_Chapter Seven_**

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Silver eyes cracked open and blinked once. The sunlight was weak, but it burned his eyes nonetheless. His lips were parched and his tongue felt thick and swollen and, above all else, dry as a bone. _I want water._

He blinked again, but a sudden pounding in his forehead made his eyes snap close. He could even feel the stickiness of blood matting his hair at his temple. He reached with his left hand to touch the deep cut, but before he raised it past his shoulder his wrist gave a screaming throb. His breath caught.

A small groan made Elladan realize where he was. Weakly he shifted and his good hand suddenly bumped against his brother's, eliciting a sharp hiss from the still body next to him. "Oh, Valar, Elrohir…" he whispered, turning his head to the side to look at his twin.

Elrohir shifted to look at him as well and eyed him ruefully. "I'm not sure I can say we have been through worse, brother," he said hoarsely, cracking a sad smile. Legolas was suddenly bending over them, gazing at them worriedly.

"Elladan…Elrohir…how do you fare?" he asked anxiously, touching them each on the shoulder gently. Concern swam in his sapphire eyes. He saw Elrohir cough quietly and swallow painfully. "I am sorry," he murmured, "but the afternoon sun has dried the dew off of the nearest leaves and plants, or I would offer you a little moisture to alleviate your throats. Believe me, you are not the only one in need of something cool."

As if in confirmation of his words he swayed on his knees and sat back, closing his eyes and breathing deeply.

"Legolas?"

Elrohir was at his side in an instant, groaning softly at his body's protests. All he could do was sit up and his leg throbbed painfully even with that small movement. He calmly took the prince's face in his bloodied hands, mindful of his left wrist and wincing when he moved the swollen appendage too far, and studied Legolas silently. "You are feverish," he murmured suddenly, eyes widening. The Elf's eyes were indeed slightly glazed and he was terribly white. "Look at me," he instructed softly, and the sapphire-eyed Elf met his gaze tiredly. The son of Elrond was silent for a while, touching his face and looking into his eyes deeply with a furrowed brow.

Legolas suddenly moaned and turned aside, pulling from Elrohir's grasp and kneeling on the ground. He was clutching his stomach, breathing deeply, keeping his eyes closed. But then he swore abruptly and jerked forward, beginning to retch.

"Damn it, Legolas! Why did you not tell us something was wrong?" Elladan swore angrily, grunting softly as he pulled himself with his one good arm to the prince's side. There was very little to expel from Legolas' stomach, so it was within seconds that he collapsed limply to the ground, gasping and leaning against the tree heavily. Sweat beaded his forehead and he wiped sick from his mouth with his sleeve. He shook his head weakly.

"N-nothing's wrong…" he whispered, shivering. "There c-cannot be anything wrong…"

"There definitely will be when we get done with you," Elrohir said darkly, and he and his twin pinned equally angry glares on the prince. "Now, what is happening? How long have we been unconscious?"

"About three and a half hours," Legolas answered quietly. His breath was shallow. "I…I have been ill for maybe an hour now."

"Ill?" Elladan looked at him, astonished. "You cannot possibly be ill, only Estel-" He stopped. Eyes wide, he looked at his brother with dread.

"Poison," the prince murmured, closing his eyes weakly as he confirmed the twins' deepest fear.

The Elves' hearts stopped.

"It-it cannot be-"

"You were perfectly healthy at dawn-"

"My people have found two poisons that are undetectable until the first symptom," Legolas explained, his eyes glimmering sadly.

_If he is poisoned…we do not have an antidote, _Elladan began to panic._ It could blind him, injure him further, destroy his bodily functions, dehydrate him, stop his breathing, complicate his heart…_

_Or even kill him…_Elrohir moaned to his brother. _And all we can do is sit here and watch him! We cannot walk, we both are suffering from mild blood loss, we are hungry and weak, and someone has to care for Alassiel…_

_This cannot be happening! What twist of fate brought us here and damned us like this?! How could this be happening to us?!_

Elladan began scrutinizing the Elf before him anxiously. "Legolas, tell me about this poison!" he demanded desperately. "I need to know _everything_. Is there an antidote? What are the symptoms? How long do we have until you are disabled? What is the mortality rate-" he suddenly stopped and swore. "We cannot do this…we are all going to die here!" he moaned helplessly. "Legolas is poisoned, Elrohir and I are extremely handicapped, we have a child to care for and protect, we haven't eaten or drunk anything in over a day, it will take days for Estel to bring help-"

"And I will die without the antidote."

Elladan's anguished cry echoed in the clearing but was barely heard over the hustle and bustle of the Orcs. They, at least, seemed to ignore them, but the Elves had not noticed the increase in their activity in the past few minutes…

Elrohir closed his eyes, alone of the group to have not voiced his desperation or sadness. "Legolas…the symptoms…what are they? And how long do we have?" he whispered, voice laced with regret and dismay.

The prince swallowed and curled up gingerly, beginning to shudder with chills. His eyes were bright with fever when they met the grieving twin's eyes. "I have around fourteen hours left – 'til roughly dawn. The first sign," he spoke calmly, almost as if he had already accepted his doom, "is that the infected wound will not appear to be healing, followed by random periods of fevers, chills, and vomiting for several hours."

"You already experience those," Elrohir breathed, glancing at the oozing 'x' marring his friend's side, the sick that stained his clothes, the cold that racked his thin frame, and the fever that clouded his eyes. The wound was still as gruesome as ever, blood caking his exposed skin and drying over the dead flesh and cloth. Legolas had been unsuccessful in re-wrapping it without the help of one of the twins. Elladan set about helping bandaging him.

"What is the next symptom?" _Dare I ask?_

"Convulsions," Legolas shivered. "over six to seven hours, progressively worse, longer, and closer together. Then there is agony. If the pain is not enough to kill you, then-"

"-the last symptom will," Elladan breathed, closing his eyes. He had heard rumors of this poison. It was called _Guruthos._

Elrohir glanced back and forth between his brother and friend, wide-eyed. "Why? What is the final symptom?"

"Asphyxiation. Suffocation. Lack of air. Death," Legolas hissed angrily. "Only preventable by suicide, death by a friend's hand, or the antidote I had in my pack."

A plaintive voice cried weakly, interrupting the dark conversation. "Legolas?"

"_Ai_, Alassiel…" Legolas coughed and rolled stiffly to his stomach and pushed himself up slowly. He winced and groaned as his wounds were stretched, but he crawled to Alassiel nonetheless. He was pitifully weak, moving on his hands and knees so at a snail's pace and shivering uncontrollably, clutching his side with a grimace. And he was only transpiring a distance of three feet.

Alassiel was crying again. Silver tears slipped down her pale cheeks, dampening the fine strands of her buttermilk hair that hung astray. Her little fingers were stuffed in her mouth as she sobbed.

"Hush, _ai, _hush child," Legolas comforted her, drawing her close carefully. His voice was weak. "What is wrong, _tithen-iell?_ Has something frightened you?"

She only gave a little sob and pointed over Legolas' shoulder, trembling.

Foul breath was hot against Legolas' neck as he turned to greet Olog with silent dismay. Alassiel scampered out of Legolas' lap, finding haven in the twins' arms. "Your turn," the Orc growled. Suddenly he had Legolas by the throat and was dragging him away, taking special care to grind him against the tree and any rough stones that lay on the ground as they went. The Elf's eyes were wide as he franticly tried to pull away, reaching for the twins anxiously.

"_Help…me!"_ he gasped as Olog's thick, slug-like fingers tightened around his throat.

"_Baw! _No! If you take him…he will die!" Elladan shouted, dragging himself after Legolas helplessly and racking his brain anxiously for ways to stall. "He's poisoned, he will be no use to you dead!"

Captain Ologûk suddenly stepped out of the mass of Orc bodies, grinning devilishly. "No use to me dead, eh?" he sneered. "Who said I wanted 'im alive?"

Elladan's brow furrowed. "To bargain against our fathers, to use us as ransom," he answered immediately, but he suddenly doubted his answer. He felt his twin's heartbeat quicken. _There is something we are missing…_

"Ransom?" Ologûk cackled. "A fine idea, das to be sure! But would it work?" He shook his head and bent to scrape Elladan's cheek with his razor-sharp gauntlet. A swollen drop of blood left a thick red line on the Elf's cheek. The Orc smirked. "Nah. It wouldn't work. 'Esides, they ain't my orders. My orders," his voice dropped to a low, heavy whisper as he jerked Elrohir's head close now. "are to do what I want wit' ya. Then make sure that all that's left here are yur cold, dead bodies."

A cold stone settled deep in the pits of their stomachs as the Orc captain turned away with a snicker. "Now," he began fiendishly, looking with lust over at the still struggling form of Legolas, "I do love 'em when they struggle and act so pitif'ly weak. Shall we begin?"

I+I+I+I+I+I+I+I

_Seven hours earlier: a little after dawn…_

He had been running for countless hours now with little time to rest. He was almost completely lost; only his feet were sure that he was still on the path that headed west. He would have to be running for maybe another twenty hours to reach the palace halls. The twins and Legolas had forgotten one major factor; Estel's endurance and speed were the best for leagues around.

For the first time ever Estel was grateful for all his boredom as a child. Nearly every day he would simply go race through the forest; it was the quickest way to get away from something or someone or to simply explore. He had incredible muscles now, and incredible strength.

But now his breathing was ragged, his heart pounding. He would have to rest soon. _Pace yourself,_ he reprimanded himself, _a dead-tired Man is no way to help your companions. _

The forest was blacker than night. The trees were twisted and curled, and above the sound of his breathing he could make our dark rustles and distant shrieks from their gnarled branches. Yellow and red eyes glared out at him, blinking once, and then vanishing before he could blink himself. The monsters that lurked in this forest were watching him. Night was a dangerous time to travel in Mirkwood, though daytime was just as terrible the night held creatures that did not lurk underneath the sun. Spiders were more prone to launch their bloated bellies on unwary travelers, and all black, shrieking monsters that could wreak havoc darted in the underbrush. Black snakes, black rats, hungry crows and all sorts of remorseless creatures slithered and scattered and cawed from all points and places. In short, the forest was no longer the Greenwood the Great it once was. In fact, it was far from it.

Estel focused on breathing to keep himself from remembering his lack of weapons. His luck had held out wonderfully so far, and he was terrified it would not last. _Breathe, that's the key. In, out, in out. Nice and smooth and even. Keep breathing…_

But he was so focused on breathing and not on where his feet were going that Estel had no clue he was about to run head-on into a rather large and painful obstacle. His boot slammed a thick piece of flat wood abruptly but his body kept moving forward, so in a split second and before he could cry out he smacked into the wooden bottom of a box of sorts, his nose making first contact as he slammed face-first into the moldy-smelling beech wood.

"_Ti tállbe Orch,_ you stupid piece of-" Estel's swearings trailed off as he wiped his nose gingerly on his sleeve. In the extremely dim light of the moon he saw a dark stain on his shirt arm. _Great. Perhaps a broken nose. Just what I needed…_ He sat up slowly but whatever he was in suddenly rocked side to side, and he heard the light splashing of water.

"The Enchanted River," he breathed when he realized he was sitting in the ferry boat. By the Valar he was lucky indeed – a little bit to the left or right would have left him sprawled in the river and in a deep sleep that would probably be enough to cause him to drown. Hastily he untied the beautiful Elven rope that held the ferry boat anchored to this bank of the river. As if on its own accord the boat immediately floated straight on across, smooth and calm though the river rippled around him. Within minutes he reached the other end and clambered out of the old boat. _Time to start running again…_

He got no more than a mile before his luck ran dry.

A twig snapped just on his right side, far closer than normal. He glanced around, trying to get his bearings when suddenly a red flag shot up in his mind. Something was not right here. He slowed only a little to clam his breathing so he could hear better, but he dared not stop. He screamed internally. _I have no weapon! I am defenseless! I have no weapon and I am miles upon miles from civilization!_

Another twig snapped, followed by an all-too familiar hiss and a rustle in the trees above him, and another hiss answered from three feet away, and another from six feet to his left, and another up ahead…

The spiders had found him.

With an angry curse he began to sprint. _Help me! _He screamed in his mind. _I am defenseless! I NEED HELP!_

He dared not cry out yet, any noise might attract more spiders. He moaned aloud, though, when the air filled with hungry hisses and squeals of the spiders. He got no more than one hundred feet before the first giant, swollen spider landed in front of him with a bloated thud. He backpedaled and wheeled around, leaping for the side of the path. Another leapt at him from that side. With a cry of dismay he turned around and headed for the north side of the path, but it too was blocked.

_No…_

He backed up hastily, running backwards but did not make it far before he tripped on a vine and fell heavily into thick, white, sticky cords. _I am about to be breakfast, _he moaned. They advanced on him as he struggled, shouting and screaming for help. The closest one hissed hungrily, brandishing its stinger proudly.

"_NIN DREGO! GWANNO EREB NIN! RHAICH! GWANNO EREB NIN!" _His shouts echoed and bounced off the dry trees around him, but were answered by no one. _"SAES! HELP ME, SOMEONE!"_

But his desperate cries went unheeded, and the spiders slunk closer.

I+I+I+I+I+I+I+I

Consciousness evaded him, but he did not mind.

But obviously someone did.

Someone had seized him by the shoulders and was shaking him persistently, calling his name and speaking in a fair voice. He recognized it but couldn't remember how. He tried to open his eyes, but the blaze of a torch blinded him and he moaned softly.

"Hush…Come back to us, you may sleep no longer…"

Estel pried open his eyes and found a pair of emerald-eyes smiling back at him. "Greetings, young friend," King Thranduil of the Wood Elves greeted him warmly, his face an unreadable mask, as ever, "I had hoped we would not meet under circumstances such as these. But alas, I also hoped that I would not live to see visitors attacked by inhabitants in my own kingdom, however unwanted." The Elven-king smiled sadly to himself as he reached down to help Estel into a sitting position. The Man blinked in the bright light that the torches cast out on the path. He saw a party of maybe twenty elves before him, some cleaning their white blades or unstringing their bows. Others kicked black bodies of spiders off the path. He saw that their black blood had stained the ground, and remnants of a spider web still clung to his clothing as well as a red streak on his shoulder where a spider had jabbed her stinger. He groaned softly, a headache – and nose-ache – beginning to overcome him.

"Drink this," King Thranduil offered kindly, holding out a small container of liquid. The amber liquid was sweet and warm on his throat, and immediately his aches and pains faded to a minimum. _Thank the Valar for Elven healing…_

He looked up at Thranduil, watching the king as he moved to retrieve a small amount of food for the starving Man. The elder Elf's hair was pale gold, smooth as silk as it hung in a chest-length curtain about his slender face. His emerald eyes were unlike his son's own sapphire but mirrored the trees of the kingdom he loved. He was incredibly strong and incredibly powerful, his presence alone radiating energy and nobility. He was fit, strong, healthy, unscarred, worthy of his own kingship but plagued with pain and worry. His kingdom was in disarray and slowly crumbling at his fingertips and he could do nothing to stop it. He had even lost a good part of his family to the enemy. Estel admired the Elf for his strength and bravery. He apparently had proven his courage, too, thousand times over in battle, earning his battle plaits when he was young and had barely come of age. He had the same warrior plaits as Legolas had, braided over his ears and down the back of his head…

_Legolas._

"Lord Thranduil!"

The Elf spun around, his hand flying to the blade at his waist instinctively. "Estel, what ails you?" he cried, seeing the horrified look on the Man's face.

"Your son…he has been captured! He is in terrible danger, he has been wounded terribly-"

Thranduil stopped Estel's anxious cries with a saddened glance. "I know," he interrupted quietly. He turned away. "I felt Legolas' pain and fear in my heart. Our _faers_ are uniquely bonded. I readied a small force, ready to set out, but we lacked a location. It was several hours later that the forest brought information from you," he turned back and smiled gently and waved away Estel's words. "You wonder how it happened, do you not? You are one of the only known mortals to have heard the Song of Ilúvatar, a gift normally reserved for the Firstborn. Children of the Sun were not meant to hear it, but we are all a different harmony in the world's song, whether immortal, mortal, or nonliving. The trace of Elven blood in your veins, I think, is what enabled the trees to connect with you in your moment of need. It will probably never happen again." He touched Estel's shoulder at his crestfallen look. "But do not despair; you do not need to be immortal to love the earth or the forests on its face, nor to be loved by your friends and families."

Thranduil put his arm around Estel's shoulder, and as muscular as it was it still was as light as a child's. "Now, tell me what has happened to my son and your brothers."

Estel grimaced and let the king guide him in a circle slowly and explained painfully of what had transpired. He was, however, grateful for Thranduil's choice of words; referring to Elladan and Elrohir as his brothers. He felt Thranduil stiffen at his description of Legolas' injury. "Has he been bleeding?" Thranduil asked suddenly. "Has he begun to heal?"

"…Yes, he has been bleeding rather badly for many hours now. But he also pulled a piece of scimitar from his side several minutes before I left…"

Thranduil froze. "Was he ill?" he murmured. "Did he have a fever?"

"No, he was perfectly fine-"

"Did he seem to be in a lot of pain?"

"Aye, he did-"

"More than you have ever seen?"

"Aye, well, I think so; I do not think he was hurting as much when he was shot with an arrow through his-"

Thranduil abruptly turned and spoke rapidly in Sindarin, demanding a bottle of _Nimfaun. _

_Cloud of Light?_ _What sort of draught is that…_"My Lord," Estel began, starting after him. "What is wrong?"

Thranduil slowly turned, raising his suddenly-sad emerald eyes to the man's with hesitance. "I…I fear Legolas has been poisoned," the king murmured darkly. An attendant led his horse over, a beautiful great white stallion gently clopping to his master's side. Thranduil mounted quickly and offered a spare chestnut to Estel. "If so, he only has hours left if your reckoning is correct."

Estel mounted the beautiful brown horse he was offered, stroking its mane gently but never breaking Thranduil's gaze. "Legolas? _Poisoned?_ How? When? He was fine before, perfectly healthy-" Estel began in a rush. His heart was pounding, drumming out the very beats that would cease to sound in Legolas' chest all too soon.

Thranduil nodded tightly. "Aye, but this poison is undetectable," he explained bitterly, "until his symptoms begin." There was a flash in his bright emerald eyes and they fluttered closed briefly, and Estel wondered if it was resentment or pain for his child that he saw… "Valar, his _faer_ is weak already…" Thranduil dimly murmured, and slowly he opened his eyes once more. Determination glittered there now, a spark of courage that made Estel sit taller in his saddle. _Have hope, have courage, have strength…_

Those emerald eyes glinted sharply with vengeance and his lips curled in a devious grin. The king was suddenly wild and cunning and yet in control, looking so much like his only son…

"It's time to hunt," he hissed.

* * *

_To be continued..._


End file.
